Cackle(73)

Nope. Never mind. No, thanks. I can’t handle hearing about someone else’s happiness. I know it’s shameful, but I just can’t.

Remember I told u about the hot history teacher Mr. Collins? He’s out of town right now, but we’ve been hanging out a lot & I was thinking of u because remember that psychic we went to on your bday?

I watch the little ellipses as she types another message. Is there anything more dread inducing in this world than those fucking ellipses?

That psychic said I was going to meet the love of my life and his name wasn’t going to be his name, and Ben’s real name is Winston but his dad is also Winston, so they call him by his middle name, Benjamin. Weird right?

I can’t.

There’s more, she types.

Of course there’s more.

He’s from Miami and says he’ll probably move back there when he’s finished with his master’s. But he said he’s also got family in San Diego and it’s nice there, too.

She’s still typing.

It’s exactly what that psychic said to me. That I’m going to move somewhere warm like California or Florida. There are other warm places but she wasn’t like u might move to New Mexico or whatever.

I press my head against the window, smoosh my forehead into the cool glass.

Crazy right??? Imagine if I end up with him & that psychic was right about everything.

I let the phone fall from my hand. I close my eyes.

Nadia either doesn’t remember what the psychic said to me or doesn’t care.

Imagine if the psychic was right. Right about everything. About my bleak, ambiguous fate.

I sense a darkness. That’s what the psychic said to me all those months ago.

I didn’t need her to tell me. I sensed it then. I sense it now.

How could I not?

I sit in its palm.

I open my eyes, and there’s nothing but black.

At first, I think I’m being dramatic, projecting the absolute dark, manifesting my fears.

But then it moves.

It’s moving.

I back away from the window. My view outside is completely obstructed.

Obstructed by a swarm of spiders.

Layers upon layers of them crawling over one another.

To witness it, the sheer number of them, atrophies my muscles. I stand petrified in the middle of my bedroom.

“Sss . . . sss . . . sssss,” I stutter. “Sssstop! Stop it!”

The spiders disperse with unnatural speed.

My view is returned.

I slump down to the floor. I rock there, holding my knees close to my chest.





DEVELOPMENTS


Simple Spirits doesn’t close until ten. I put on my coat, my gloves, my hat and my ugliest, warmest boots and trudge out to Main Street.

Under the honey glow of the streetlamps, I see that it’s desolate. It’s always quiet at night, but not this quiet. I walk up to Simple Spirits and find it dark.

I try the door. It’s locked.

I knock.

“Alex?” I say, my voice quavering with desperation. “Alex, it’s nine twenty-six. Are you there? Are you open?”

I knock again.

I listen.

I hear voices.

But the voices aren’t coming from inside Simple Spirits. They’re coming from somewhere else. Somewhere close.

I step back from the door, back onto the sidewalk.

To the right of Simple Spirits, there’s a Tudor-style antique shop. I’ve never been inside, but there’s a carousel horse in the front window that I always admire. On the other side, on the left, there’s the little white cottage.

The lights are on.

I’ve lived here for six months and I still don’t know what’s inside. I figured it was vacant.

I follow the stone walkway up to the door, which is slightly shorter than me. I’m about to lean over to peer into one of the small round windows when I hear someone speak my name.

“Annie is a sweet girl. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

I recognize that voice. It’s Rose’s.

I hunch under the window, out of view. I listen.

“She’s corrupting her.” Oskar.

“Lynn saw her out dancing in the yard.” Alex. “Late at night. Singing to herself. Ya can’t deny that’s a little strange.”

“Harmless,” Rose says. “It’s harmless.”

“Until it isn’t,” Oskar says.

The horror of it blooms in me. It’s an endless unfurling of embarrassment.

They’re all talking about me. Why are they all hanging out late at night talking about me? Gossiping about me? About . . .

A bead of sweat descends from my hairline down to my temple.

“Oskar, I appreciate you keeping us in the loop and raising your concerns. I understand why you have them, given your history, but Annie isn’t dangerous. She’s a sweetheart.”

“She is a very sweet girl.” Deirdre, I think.

Are the two really mutually exclusive? Sweet or dangerous?

“Doesn’t matter,” Oskar says. “She won’t be sweet when Sophie’s done with her. Don’t you see what’s happening here? She’s being manipulated.”

“Annie moved here without knowing anyone. She doesn’t have people. I don’t think her friendship with Sophie is as destructive as you’re implying,” Rose says. “It might even be a good thing. Don’t forget, a lot of what we have, we have because of Sophie. There are benefits.”