Dark and Twisted (7 page)

“Huh?”

She pulls the edges of her orange sweater tight around her middle. “Go collect your supplies,” she says shortly.

“Now?” I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk because my legs feel like Jell-O.

Snickers from Juliet’s table float in my direction.

“Yes, now! Eden, stop irritating me and go get your supplies.”

I crane my neck to see what Juliet has gathered, but her big butt is blocking my view. I will have to wing it. I go to the supply closet and grab paper, colored pencils, glue, and a healthy amount of glitter. You can’t go wrong with glitter,
right?
I return with my finds, dumping them on the table between Jaxson and me. I lean a little bit closer, and my face is next to his bicep as I try to peer over him.

He smells delightful— like a mixture of rain with a light hint of pine—as if he walked through the woods this morning. I take another deep breath. I’m busy smelling him like a weirdo when he shifts again, giving me a better view of his paper. I watch in amazement as he moves the charcoal in quick strokes across the thin, white paper. He stops at times and rubs his thumb across a newly formed line, transforming it into purposeful smudges and shadows. He has created something beautiful, something haunting.

The skeletal branches of a tree reach up the length of the paper into a winter sky. The thin trunk of the tree twists in and around itself in a revolting manner. It seems to come alive, winding on the paper. It’
s
mesmerizing, and somehow, I know that it means more to Jaxson than a dying tree. I’m sure it represents a part of him, but what?

The spindly branches curl in and out towards the edge of the paper as if it’s in pain. Beckoning me closer, a sudden desire to feel it overcomes me, and my fingers reach out, hovering over the paper. I want to touch it, want to stop the hurt. I can help it.
I can help him
.

“Don’t.” He grabs my wrist, my fingers dangling dangerously close to the paper.

I look up at him, blinking.

Cold electricity dances across my skin where his fingers touch. It rolls off him and seeping deep into my bones, my blood crystalizing. I yank my hand free pulling it to my chest.
How did he do that?

I am debating if I should do my homework now or cram everything in at once on Sunday night when I hear a loud bang coming from the basement. I cringe, knowing Essie is down there with her stock pile of food and makeshift weapons.

“Essie,” I timidly call down to her, afraid she might be having one of her episodes. She doesn’t answer me, so I take a deep breath and head down the stairs, wondering what mental state I am going to find her.

Dad had planned to turn the basement into a man cave, and Mom had agreed, but only if she could have a section of the basement for an office that had sky blue walls and mahogany shelves to house all of her books. I would sit at the top of the stairs and listen to them laugh as they painted. Back then, I thought it was nauseating. Now, I would do anything to hear those sounds again. I try to avoid the basement at all costs because I don’t want to see the half-painted walls or the blue splatters on the floor. Each one is a reminder that they are gone.

The washing machine is running, which is a good sign, and nothing looks abnormal. Well, abnormal for my family. My mom’s book shelves now hold canned food and various weapons that probably don’t even work. The pool table Dad found at a garage sale is now a makeshift shelf that holds items like rock salt, dried herbs, stacks of pie tins, and foil.

“Essie, are you down here?” I call out

A small brown head peeks out from behind the shelf. “Oh good, Eden, you’re here,” she says. Her hair falls in long waves around her heart-shaped face.

She steps all the way out, wearing a blue and yellow striped sweater, which falls to her knees, and a pair of black leggings. “Will you help me?”

“Sure.” I follow her as she pads barefoot across the concrete floor.

“Grab the salt and that container over there.”

I do as she instructs while she gathers her own armful of supplies, and we make our way up the stairs.

“So how was school?” She drops the supplies on the kitchen counter.

“Fine,” I say, examining a glass jar that holds what looks like tea leaves in it. “I tried to make a new friend today … a foster.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Essie takes out a large pot and places it on the stove top.

“You know how everyone says that the foster kids are nothing but trouble?”

She nods her head and starts to shake the contents of one of the jars into the pot. A sharp odor that smells suspiciously of paint wafts my way. I go over to the stove as Essie ignites the burner and confirms that my suspicions are right.

“Well, they might be right. This one is really strange.” I take the spoon from her. “Something odd happened with him today,” I look into the pot, and it’s filled with a thick, red paint.

“Strange what do you mean?” Essie’s eyes widen.

“No. Not other worldly. Nothing extraterrestrial,” I say quickly relieving any sudden fears of hers. “Is this dinner?” I watch as a glob of thick liquid falls off the spoon into the pot.

Essie lets out a musical laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Eden.” She bumps me out of the way with her hip. “We are going to paint the walls with this.”

Oh, well that’s normal
. I sigh. “Essie, we cannot paint the walls with this.” We’re already the freaks in town, really what would it change if we did? It’s not like I’m winning homecoming queen anytime soon.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, we can. I met an alien expert this morning, and he said that this would prevent abductions.”

I open the kitchen window. “You met an alien expert today, where?” I question her as I sip on my juice. I don’t want to alarm her, so I keep it airy, but my heart picks up the pace. The last thing I need is Essie listening to a whack-a-doodle that feeds into her delusions.

“In a chatroom online. Umm, can you bring me the salt?” After I bring her the salt the fumes are starting to make me lightheaded.

“Maybe you shouldn’t take advice from strangers. What if this stuff will just attract them?”

Her hand stills over the pot while she processes what I just said, but almost instantly she shakes her head. “No, he has a blog about abductions and is very knowledgeable about them.” She whispers the last word, pointing to the ceiling.

“Here take this and pour it over our bedroom windows.” She hands me back the jar of salt. “Go, go.” She smacks me playfully, and I go to salt the windows.

I open my bedroom window, breathing in the cool air and dump a pile of salt on the sill. The wind picks up the granules, scattering them like snow.
As long as Essie doesn’t burn down the house, and I keep it well ventilated, it should be okay
. I plop down on my unmade bed. After all the weirdness with Jaxson, I don’t want to deal with Essie’s weirdness. I pull my phone out from my back pocket and dial Liv.

“What’s up, mate?” Liv says into the phone.

“What’s up, mate? Really?” I counter.

“I thought I would try an accent… You know, spice up our relationship.”

“Have we become so predictable that you have resorted to using bad accents?” I ask, and then we both burst out into a fit of laughter.

“So what’s up?” She asks when we finally have our giggling under control.

“I need to get out of the house for a little while.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

“Nothing really.” I pause listening to Essie sing to herself down stairs. “I just need a little break from prepping for our impending doom.”

“Well,” Liv sings, “it’s Friday night and Jamies at practice so we could have a girls’ night, complete with junk food, glitter nail polish, and the latest romance release. You know the one where the guy is dating the girl with no legs.” She sighs into the phone.

“You had me at glitter.”

“Only one problem, Blaise took the car. He is such a little pain in the ass ever since he got his license. I think he’s going to get pot, but my parents insist that he’s just going through a phase. Remember the time I dyed the blue strip in my hair? You would have thought the world was coming to an end. But Blaise goes and pierces every corner of his body and shaves his head into a Mohawk, and it’s just a—”

“Liv,” I cut her off, more than happy to hear all about Blaise when I get there, “I’ll walk. It’s not a problem.”

“Are you sure?” I imagine her twirling the cord of her ancient yellow phone around her finger.

“Yeah, I need the fresh air, and I’ll take the shortcut, be there in fifteen.” I take a deep breath, relieved that I have Liv. She was there when Essie was fine, and she is here now when she isn’t, so if anyone understands, it’s Liv.

“Crap, I have to go. Lily is potty training and just peed on my floor,” she says hurriedly, and the low beep of being disconnected fills the receiver.

I pull on a pair of brown boots and head downstairs, a cold breeze meets me, lifting my hair. Essie is staring at the stark white walls in the living room

“Eden, grab a paint brush and help me,” she says when she spots me.

“I can’t, I’m going to Liv’s for a bit.” A flash of hurt crosses her face, and for a moment, I feel guilty. I hate feeling like I’m crazy, too, and whenever I participate in one of Essie’s projects, that is exactly how I feel. One of us needs to be sane. “She is having sibling issues. Stolen cars, possible pot smoking, and urine on the floor … you know that kind of thing.”

“Okay. Well then, you should go. She needs you.”

“I will only be gone a couple of hours. If you aren’t done by the time I get back, I’ll be happy to help.”

She smiles at that.

“Love you.” My hand is on the door and I’m ready to go.

Essie calls to me. “Eden, wait. He also gave me this for you.” She meets me at the door.

“He?” I ask as she holds out a small leather pouch.

“It will keep you safe.” I hesitate for a moment before taking it from her, inside are stones with strange markings on them.

Ummm, thanks.” I stuff the bag deep into my coat pocket.

I take the shortcut through the woods, and the wind blows wet leaves across my boots, leaving tiny dark spots on the fake suede material. I tighten my scarf around my neck and hurry. The cold air is mixed with a mist that isn’t heavy enough to be classified as rain, yet it causes fog to cling to the ground. I normally like dreary weather, but for some reason, it’s setting my nerves on edge. An eerie feeling of not being alone grows in the pit of my stomach.

I know these woods as a child knows their favorite bedtime story. I can see the well-worn paths in my mind. Liv and I used to spend our summers exploring these woods when we were little. I know that a few feet up ahead if I veered to the right, I would wind up in the spot the middle school kids go. Broken, mildewed plastic chairs, from the cafeteria, sit in a circle around a pile waterlogged dirty magazines, empty beer cans and discarded cigarettes. If I veer to the left, the woods continue deep into the hills.

This is the spot where Essie was found twenty-three years ago after she went missing for a week. Dad always said what had happened to her had changed her forever. When they were alive, I was prohibited from ever stepping foot in these woods, but I never listened. I always felt oddly drawn to the woods. But, today, they feel foreign and dangerous. I wish I had taken the long way to Liv’s house.

I recite a poem Essie taught me when I was little under my breath. She told me to repeat the words if I was ever scared and a tiny magical creature would appear to take the fears away. Tiny creatures never appear, but the words are strangely calming. I glance over my shoulder as I say the words aloud to keep me company.

“Take wary steps along the dark and twisted road,

Listen to wings that beat between evil and good,

A sacrifice will be made,

One of heart that will beat no more,

Blood will spill,

Fire will burn and ice will reign,

Death will be the only way,

If not for love—the only cure.”

The fog creeps between the skeletal trees that seem to grow with each word. I glance over my shoulder, the feeling of not being alone grows in the pit of my stomach like a weed. I will my feet not to bolt as the sensation of being watched prickles at the back of my neck. Goose flesh spreads down my arms, and a cold shiver runs up my back.

“I am alone there is no one else in here with me,” I whisper. The only sound is my heart racing and the alarms ringing in my head, telling me I am in danger.
Run, run, run.
Just a little farther and I will be out of these woods.

I am about to take off when a dark figure dashes across my peripheral vision. I scream and my heart stops beating. I spin around, but I can’t see who it is. The silence of the woods is like a weight, and I drag in a sharp, icy breath that burns my lungs.

I can’t stop shaking. “Hello?” My teeth chatter together, and my heart slams into my rib cage. I wipe the sweat off on my jeans and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I am no good if I panic. It is just probably someone else using the shortcut, and they are more than likely long gone. I’m letting my imagination get the best of me.

I close my eyes and count to three before opening them again, and the dark hooded figure stands in front of me. This time, my scream cuts through the fog.