The Writing Retreat(42)

“Whoa,” Taylor muttered, impressed.

Just get through it. I locked my arms against my chest. Wren was baiting me, just waiting for me to freak out in front of Roza. It wasn’t going to happen.

“We backed away from where the sounds had been coming from and went to the other side of the clearing. Christina was saying we should just walk out through the trees. But I thought that we’d definitely be lost. We had no idea where we were. And the trees and brush around the clearing was super thick, like it was trapping us in. And then”—Wren paused for dramatic effect—“we saw something.”

“What?” Poppy whispered.

“It was big.” Wren tucked back her hair with both hands. “And it was right at the edge of the clearing. We saw the leaves shake. And there was this smell… it’s hard to even describe. Halfway between wet dog—”

And something rotting.

“And something rotting. I saw these two shiny circles, these orbs way up in the trees. Eyes. And this heavy, sighing sound. Without even looking at each other, Christina and I plunged into the trees. We flat-out ran. I banged my shoulder against a tree, which was excruciating, but I kept going. After a few minutes, we slowed down to see if it was coming after us. And that’s when we heard…”

“The monster?” Taylor asked, chewing on a nail.

“The fireworks.” Wren smiled. “It took some time, but we followed the sound and finally reached the main path. It was the most relieved I’ve ever felt in my life. By the time we got back, we were both bruised and bleeding, just totally cut up. Christina’s mom sobered up fast when she saw us. She helped us clean our scratches. Christina told her what happened, and her mom just kept saying that we shouldn’t have gone into the woods at night.”

“What did your parents say?” Poppy asked, hushed.

Wren had asked me the same thing.

“I never told them.” Wren shook her head sadly. “They wouldn’t have believed me. Especially my mom.”

“What the fuck!” The words burst out. Everyone looked at me, confused. Except for Wren. She just watched me coolly.

“What is wrong with you?” I cried. “Do you really think that’s okay?” I struggled to lower my voice but I couldn’t. All the disbelief and rage poured out like toxic sludge.

“What’s okay?” Taylor glanced back and forth between us.

“That’s my story.” I said it through gritted teeth. “It happened to me. I wrote a short story about it. Which Wren read.”

“It’s a game.” Wren blinked, innocent. “Roza said we could tell a story that happened to us or someone we know.”

“But I’m sitting right here,” I cried. “You can’t do that. You can’t just take whatever you want.” My hands were curled into claws, and I forced them under my thighs. The rage was back, coursing through my body. I wanted to throttle her, then rip off her skull and throw it into the fire.

“Aw, man.” Taylor sighed. “Now we know it’s a true story. We can’t guess whether Wren made it up just now.”

“Are you okay?” Keira asked me. Her look of concern chastened me.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t think that was fair.” My shoulders hunched forward. Great. Now everyone thought I was some lunatic who couldn’t handle a stupid game.

Roza had been silent, watchful. But now she shrugged. “Wren didn’t do anything I said she couldn’t do, dear.”

“Well, it’s a great story.” Taylor patted my arm. “So that really happened to you?”

“Yes. I still have a scar from those branches.”

“Well.” Roza stood, took a taper candle off the table, and handed it to Wren. “You’ll get to take a candle, dear, since we never got a chance to vote.”

Wren stood to accept it with that smug, infuriating smile.

“So now, you’ll go into the basement,” Roza went on. “Look for a table with a hand mirror and five candles. Your job is to look in the mirror and blow out one candle.”

“Where’s the basement?” Wren asked uneasily.

“Yana will show you.” Roza indicated Yana, who stood in the doorway. Had she been there the whole time?

After Wren left, I stood. “I think I’m going to go upstairs.” The disgust and unease roiled in my stomach, both at Wren and at Roza for defending her. And most of all myself, for completely losing it. I’d played right into Wren’s hands.

“No,” Roza said. “You have to finish the game.”

“I don’t want to play the game.” I hated the whininess in my voice. “Plus I don’t have a story.”

“Then make something up. Or just sit and listen.” There was a note of exasperation in Roza’s voice. I sat, trying to quell frustrated tears.

Wren came back a few minutes later, giggling and flushed.

“Well, that’s terrifying.” She set the candle back on the mantel and then plopped down beside Poppy.

Taylor and Keira went next. Taylor shared a story of seeing her deceased friend in the tiny room of a yacht when she was sixteen; Keira, of spending six months in a haunted apartment. They were guessed to be true but were both revealed to be made up. So both got candles to take downstairs.