The Haunted

And scared her.

Her first thought was that she was being punished, that, even though she’d obeyed orders and done nothing, the thing in the house knew what she’d been thinking and wanted to prove that it could get to her whenever it wanted, despite all her precautions. If true, what would happen to her if she dared to tell her parents about the slashes on her legs? What would happen to them if they knew? The safest thing would be to maintain her silence and suffer.

There was a nagging notion in the back of her mind, however, that the cuts had not been inflicted on her by some outside force but that she had made the cuts herself. In a way, this idea was even scarier. Because, try as she might, Megan could not remember doing such a thing and could think of no reason why she would.

Maybe she was losing her mind. Maybe none of the things she thought were going on were really going on. Maybe she hadn’t received any of those weird texts. Maybe there’d been no camouflaged monster at her sleepover. Maybe …

No. Her mom had seen one of the texts—

Take off your pants.

—as had James—

I will kill you both.

—and her friends had all gotten spooked by that out-of-control Ouija board even before they’d fallen asleep. These things were real.

Megan leaned forward, looking at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t crazy. She was just caught up in a crazy situation.

But what could she do about it?

She went downstairs, where her mom was already waiting for her. “Are you ready?” her mom asked.

“Yeah,” Megan said.

The two of them were planning to walk downtown together, her mom to go to work, she to go to the library. She’d finished another book, and was due a prize from the summer reading program. The program was nearly over, so prizes were getting down to the bottom of the barrel, and she wanted to make sure she got something decent. Of course, the library wouldn’t be open for another hour, but she could hang out at her mom’s office and the two of them could get in some mother-daughter bonding time. They could talk, and maybe she could even …

Megan thought of the cuts on her legs.

No.

They were already out the door when her mom realized at the last minute that she’d forgotten to bring along her flash drive, so Megan waited outside, standing in the front yard while her mother went back into the house. She pushed at the tire swing, wondering why her dad hadn’t taken it down, since neither she nor James used it. Then she wondered why James didn’t use it. The swing was something he should have loved.

A man walked slowly past on the sidewalk, making an almost comically obvious effort not to glance at their house or yard. Megan frowned. There was something familiar about him, and she tried to remember where she’d seen him before. He was an older guy, wearing a backward yellow baseball cap, and though she was almost certain he did not live on this street, and he did not seem to have any reason to be here, he walked by, then crossed the street and walked by in the opposite direction, the way he had come, still not looking at their yard.

That was weird. But then her mom came out, and she forgot all about the man.

“Let’s go,” her mom said.

Away from the house, Megan felt better. The fear was still there—it was always there these days—but she felt lighter, physically as well as mentally. She noticed the difference only when she left, but at home there was a heaviness to everything she did. Her thoughts were slower, her movements more sluggish. It felt completely normal to her while there, but the minute she was off the premises, it was as if she’d lost twenty pounds and gained twenty IQ points.

What in the world was wrong with their house?

It was a question she carried with her, one that was always in back of every thought. She had still not come up with a satisfactory answer, but it seemed clear to her that whatever plagued their home was far more than just a simple haunting. No ghost or spirit could do all … this.

Her mom seemed in a better mood, too, away from the house. As they walked through the park, she began asking Megan about school. It started in only two weeks, and usually by this time they were going shopping for clothes, had started to pick up supplies and were getting ready. But this year, school didn’t even seem to be on the radar. Even when they weren’t distracted by other things, the subject just never came up, and it felt good to be finally talking about it. Reassuring. She herself had been so focused on events at home that she’d given very little thought to her entry into eighth grade. It was going to be her last year in middle school, and while, ordinarily, that would have made her anxious, excited or something, this summer it had hardly registered.

So it felt great to be talking to her mom in a normal way about normal things.

She realized that it was time to start getting seriously busy. Especially in the clothes department. She’d grown since the spring, and the only pants that didn’t make her look like she was waiting for a flood were the jeans she had on now. All of her shorts still fit, but …

Megan was brought down to earth at the thought of the slashes on her legs.

She couldn’t wear shorts, she realized.

“I noticed The Store was having a back-to-school sale,” her mom was saying. “You’re old enough to expand your wardrobe and not wear T-shirts every day. We should …”

Megan nodded, kept a smile on her face, but she wasn’t really listening, and it wasn’t until they reached Old Main and ran into Julie and her mom in front of the closed thrift store that Megan snapped back into the here and now.

Julie’s mom greeted them with a wide smile and a friendly “Hello,” but Julie’s face reddened and she looked down at the sidewalk, embarrassed. Her family was poor, and it was obvious that she and her mom were waiting for the thrift store to open. Probably to look for clothes.

Megan was embarrassed, too, not because her friend had to buy used clothing but because she was embarrassed about it, and, like Julie, Megan stared awkwardly at the ground and said nothing.

The two mothers had no such qualms, however, and Megan’s mom nodded toward the closed front door of the thrift shop. “Monday morning’s a good time to come here. That’s when Rebecca puts out all her new items. But the first Tuesday of each month, she always has a two-for-one deal. Sometimes it’s jeans, sometimes it’s housewares, sometimes it’s books, but if you keep your eyes open, you can get some real bargains.”

Julie’s mom smiled. “That’s how I got this top. Three dollars. And one for Julie as well.”

Mortified, Julie looked as though she wanted to sink into the ground.

Megan’s mom nodded approvingly. “You know, last winter, I got a Liz Claiborne coat here that someone had given away, and it was in perfect condition. Liz Claiborne! Ten dollars! Someone must have gotten it for a present and didn’t like it, because it looked like it had never been worn.”

Her mom did sometimes buy things from the thrift store, although Megan had never felt comfortable about that. The clothes, she had to admit, were always nice—her mom had good taste—but they didn’t have to shop there, and Megan would have much preferred if her mom bought only things that were new. Now, however, she felt proud of her mother, and she even found herself relenting about the used clothing. She knew that coat, and she thought it was very stylish. It also looked very expensive. She’d been under the impression that her mom had bought it new, and to find out that it had cost only ten dollars was very impressive.

Maybe she could stretch out her own clothing allowance if she bought some of her back-to-school things here rather than at The Store.

Julie no longer seemed so embarrassed, and she and Megan began talking about school and the classes they hoped they’d get. They’d both signed up for the ultrapopular Electronic Publishing as an elective, but neither of them had gotten their schedules yet, so they didn’t know whether they’d make it in.

There was a metallic rattling of key in lock as the door to the thrift shop was opened from the inside.

“Well, I need to get to work.” Megan’s mom smiled and nodded at the elderly woman opening the door. “Good morning, Rebecca.”

“Hello, Claire. Nice day.”