"People make a lot of assumptions about things they know nothing about," Aaron says gravely.
He's not wrong, but he's getting intense again. After last night, I've had my fill of intensity.
"Look, I need to get going," I tell him, and start toward the cellar. I can sense him following me, though, as I shuffle through the keys and find the one I need.
"What are you going to do in the basement?" He cranes his head to look over my shoulder.
"Probably get covered in spiders." He glances at me and cocks one eyebrow. "I have to check for flooding," I explain.
Aaron steps closer as I slide the lock out of the latch, and his presence puts me on high alert. I don't know if I want him closer or I want to push him away. He flips the hood of his sweatshirt over his hair, casting a shadow over his face.
"It used to do that all the time," he says. "Do you want some help?"
I stop to look at him, studying his eerily good-looking face. "Why do you keep wanting to help me?"
"Because this house has a mind of its own, and I don't want you to get hurt." He slides the flashlight out of my hand and grins at me. "And you're pretty cute."
I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling and follow him in as he descends down the cellar stairs.
CHAPTER 8
Aaron clicks the flashlight on, which casts a yellow beam in the murky gray light. The cellar is a long, cement room with gray walls and only one dusty window. Lacy spiderwebs hang from every corner. The stagnant air smells of mold and the decay of time.
Aaron pauses in the middle of the room, rotating the beam around the floor.
"I don't see any water," I say, glancing around. I take a moment to study him, his boyish face that somehow also seems too word-weary, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. I wish my eyes weren't so drawn to him, it makes it hard to concentrate.
"How did you make yourself look so creepy last night?" I ask, trying to stop the flood of my suddenly raging hormones. "I mean, I found that red flashlight, but it was more than that."
Aaron holds the flashlight up underneath his chin and smirks at me in a way that makes my hair stand on end. His cheeks appear to sink in, the skin disintegrating. His eyes all but disappear, little dots in his eye sockets. It's like looking at a skull, stripped of flesh. I blink, and the illusion disappears.
"How are you doing that?"
"Doing what?" he asks, his voice sounding far away and hollow.
"Stop trying to scare me. It's not gonna work." Despite my words, dread is creeping up on me and I grit my teeth.
He immediately pulls the flashlight back. "I don't want to scare you. I was just showing you how."
"But it was like you were floating…" I protest, seeing the frightening, disembodied vision in my head.
He frowns. "I'm not that talented. You should get your eyes checked."
I feel myself blushing and turn away, and my gaze falls on the space underneath the stairs. A few boxes of junk are set up there. I grab the flashlight from him and shine the beam into the little alcove. "What's under there?"
"I have no idea," he says flatly, but I don't wait for him as I investigate. I dig through old painting supplies and rusty tools, and slide a box out. Wedged into the area between the shelf and the wall is an old acoustic guitar.
I turn around and look back at Aaron, whose face is emotionless. "What?" he asks me finally, scowling sharply.
"Were you down here—" I begin, but the words die on my lips. The cellar door was locked and the window is much too small for Aaron's tall, long-limbed body to shimmy through.
"What?" he repeats, his irritation and curiosity obviously growing.
"I keep hearing somebody play the guitar nearby," I tell him.
"Do you think that one is haunted?" he says with a smirk. "Maybe it plays by itself."
"I like you much better when your mouth is shut," I tease gently.
"Nah, you like me either way," he teases back, and my blush only gets warmer. "I didn't think you believed in ghosts."
"I never said if I did or not," I mutter as I scoot around for the stairs. "There's no water, let's go."
"Wait, I wanted to show you something," he says, strolling deeper into the basement. He beckons for me to follow him as he goes to an arched doorway at the end of the room. My heart has picked up speed and is pounding steadily against my chest as a sweat breaks out across my forehead. I realize I suddenly am scared, but I don't know of what. Of Aaron?
He goes through the doorway and stops, looking back at me. "C'mere."
"My dad is right upstairs, just so you know," I say sharply, in case he takes after his brother.
Aaron rolls his eyes. "Relax, I wouldn't hurt you. I already told you that."
I follow him into the room and he leads me over to the left. "Shine that light down here," he orders, and I point it to the floor. A circle of bricks has been set up around a large hole in the ground with no lid. Fetid air drifts out toward us as he crouches down and peers into the dark depths.
"It smells like something died down there," I say, holding my nose with my free hand.
"Maybe something did." He grins at me. With the shadows in this windowless little room, he looks ghoulish again. Even his dimples look like dents in his face.
"What's actually down there?"
He perches his hands on his knees and boosts himself up. "We never knew. My parents thought it was an old well or a sump pump hole, but they could never get to the bottom."
I move the beam of the flashlight so it's shining directly down into the hole. I see nothing but blackness.
"Really safe," I say.
"Yeah, you'll want your dad to get a cover. Just watch when it floods that the water doesn't come up through here, it happens sometimes after storms like yesterday."
"That's all you wanted to show me?" I ask skeptically.
"Don't sound so disappointed." He sweeps out past me and I feel like groaning as my skin tingles. Why is he affecting me this way?
The sunlight hurts my eyes when we step back out of the cellar. I relax my shoulders with relief to be out of the gloomy basement.
"Hey, Aaron, I have some boxes upstairs. I think they belonged to your brother. Do you want to maybe come up and take a look?"
He smiles at me warmly, showing off those insane dimples, and my insides melt like butter. "Just skip it for now. Gives me an excuse to come back."
He jogs toward the driveway without another word. I'm beginning to suspect he's allergic to goodbyes.
CHAPTER 9
I don't mention Aaron to my dad, since I get the feeling he's secretive for a reason. As I'm helping Dad make dinner later that evening, the doorbell twangs.
"I wonder who that could be?" He frowns, shutting the oven and stripping off his oven mitts.
"I'll get it," I say, then wipe my hands on a dish towel and head for the door.
A young woman in a yellow sun dress and a man in a buttoned-up shirt and khakis stand on the porch. I glance at both of them and they smile at me.
"I already know all about Jesus, thanks." I start to shut the door, but both of them chuckle.
"We're not trying to convert anyone or make a sale," the woman says. "We're your neighbors."
"Oh." I blush hard and tilt my head down. "Hi."
Dad comes in from the kitchen and joins me at the door, squeezing my shoulder. "Hi, I'm Mike Scott. This is my daughter, Ash. She's a senior up at Fairhope High. Nice to meet you." He shakes hands with both of them.
"I'm Charlie and this is my wife, Shannon," the man says in a pleasant voice. "We didn't interrupt your dinner, did we?"
"No, it still has a while to cook yet. Come on in."
Shannon hands me a tupperware container full of chocolate chip cookies. I watch as both of them glance around the foyer as if looking for clues.
"It's such a beautiful house, we're glad someone's living here again," Shannon says brightly. "As you probably know, the neighbors are a bit superstitious. We wanted to welcome you here, so you know not everyone in Fairhope thinks that way."
"We appreciate it," my dad says. I've got to hand it to him, the warmth seems genuine.
They accept my dad's offer of a drink and they follow us into the dining room. Dad fills them in on our past back in Indiana, skirting around the topic of my mother. They tell him about the best eateries in town. I try to be pleasant but mostly I just sit on the sidelines and sneak cookies.
"We were actually friends with the Moss family," Shannon finally says in a hushed tone, and my ears perk up as I start paying attention. "Lauren and Seth went to school with us."
"I'm so sorry, that must have been hard," my father says.
"It was." Charlie nods and sips the beer that my father gave him. "But time makes it easier. It was ten years ago, after all."
The words are out before I realize I'm speaking. "Do you have a picture of them?"
"Ash, that's rude," my dad scolds.
"It's okay," Shannon says, patting my hand. "You're not the first by a long shot. I understand the curiosity. I'm sure I have some in my photo boxes."
"Shannon loves to scrapbook," Charlie interjects with a smile. "She's very crafty."
"So was my wife, Liz," my dad says, and then his face goes pale. I can tell he's had a little too much to drink; it's the first time he's brought mom up in forever.
"Oh, are you divorced?" Shannon asks sympathetically.
He stares down at the floor. "No, she passed away about a year ago."
"I'm so sorry," Shannon murmurs as we sit in a moment of uncomfortable silence.
They make quick excuses and leave, my father praising the baked goods he didn't even touch. Afterward, we have our overcooked dinner. As I'm helping him clean up, I catch him looking at me.
"What?" It's such a rare occasion I wonder if I did something wrong.
"Why did you want a picture of the Moss family?"
I shrug, but I know I can't hide it anymore. "I met Aaron Moss."
"What?" He frowns in surprise.
"Aaron, the younger brother. He still lives around here. He's my age."
"Does he go to your school?"
"No, I just happened to run into him." I don't want him to know I've been covering it up for nearly two weeks.
"When did this happen?"
"A few days ago, I guess. He's really nice." I shut the dishwasher and take extra long folding the dish towel neatly so I don't get caught in his accusing gaze.
"I don't think you should be hanging out with him, Ashley. He's got to be traumatized after what happened. I know you've lost touch with your friends, but there's got to be better people to spend your time with here."
"Trust me, there aren't," I say defensively. "The girls at school are horrible."
He tilts his head and gives me a sympathetic look. "Give it time."
Time is what I'm worried about.
CHAPTER 10
I'm at school with my earphones crammed into my ears to quiet my thoughts. It's not working as well as I'd hoped. I'm sitting on the stone edge of a flower display in the courtyard outside of school as people meander past me in groups. Carla struts toward me with her clique of groupies, and I contemplate sticking my foot out to trip her as they stroll past.
But that only distracts me for a second. I keep wondering about Aaron, about what it would be like to have your whole family murdered by your own sibling. The haunted look in his eyes is undeniable, and I picture his face in my head. Why does he still live in town? Why is he still drawn to the house?
And what am I getting into with him?
I tap up the volume on my music to calm away my racing thoughts, but Aaron's face won't leave: those dark, arresting eyes, and his boyish, handsome, beautiful face…
My right earbud gets tugged out of my ear and I flinch, looking up at the culprit. It's the guy with the trench coat from a few of my classes. Today he's wearing a fedora and black nail polish to go with his crooked eyeliner.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out," he says. He's tall and has awkward posture and acne scars marking his cheeks. The thick black liner makes his eyes seem smaller. "I'm Oliver. Mind if I sit down?"
I wonder if I'm about to get asked out. I think there's a dance or something coming up. Still, I nod toward the free space next to me and he takes a seat, hanging his backpack between his knees.
"I heard Carla and the others were giving you trouble," he says.
"A little. I think it's over now."
"Don't worry, they're always bitches to fresh meat. If you're looking for friends, that's the wrong direction."
"I'm not really worried about making friends," I admit, then anxiously realize I might have offended him. My social skills are rusty. He doesn't seem fazed, though. "Girls like that are the same at every school. At my old one, it was plastic Playboy bunny wannabees who did coke in the bathroom."
He smirks at the comment and bites his thumbnail. "Yeah. It doesn't help that you moved into the Moss house, that makes you a target."
I wince. "You know about that, too?"
"Sorry. I couldn't help but overhear. Carla's got a voice like a loudspeaker." He adjusts his heavy coat underneath him. "How do you like your haunted house?"
I sigh. "It's not haunted, it's just a beacon for idiots."
"Sorry, I'm not trying to annoy you. I've just always had an interest in mass murderers." He leans forward and shifts in embarrassment, and I think he's blushing. "And hopefully I'm not freaking you the fuck out by admitting that."
"No, you're not freaking me out." He's awkward and a little dorky, but harmless. "I think it's interesting, too. Do you know a lot about the Moss family? There wasn't that much online, just the basics." I shiver a little thinking about what I read.
"Just the same stories everyone else tells," he says, shrugging.
"Pretend I haven't heard them."
He laughs a little, obviously confused. "Uh, okay. Well, Seth Moss had been getting in trouble in school a lot. He got expelled for fighting and they found weapons in his locker."