Of the Trees(8)

He grinned back, in no way embarrassed over his cartoon pajama pants and argyle sweater. “I was going to put on my hat,” he said, as if covering his messy hair would somehow negate the ridiculous outfit.

“Right, Pops,” Cassie said. Her father opened the hall closet and pulled out an old, worn hat. He put it on in a familiar way, giving it a slight shake to settle it in place. “That should fix it. You know, some of your students are bound to be there. You don’t think you want to—”

“None of my students will even notice me,” he answered, jingling the keys in front of her, “And even if they did, they’ll avoid eye contact. They always do.”

“You’re the expert, I guess,” Cassie said. She shook her head, following him out the front door. Her father taught at the same high school Cassie attended; sociology and psychology were two of his classes. Those were elective, and she wouldn’t be forced to take them. Cassie had already had to suffer through his freshman history class. Laney was with her, so it wasn’t too horrible, just awkward. Some of the other kids had teased Cassie back then—they were all only freshman, after all—but Laney got riled up and shouted one of the biggest offenders down. Mackenzie Roberts never saw Laney coming; she was short and pale, and back then she still wore glasses, so no one would have thought much of being cornered by Laney Blake. Mackenzie backed off, and they were all friendly now. Laney and Mackenzie even team up now and again for the Debate Club. But to this day, Cassie felt a small surge of gratitude at the memory of Laney sticking up for her.

The drive to the carnival was short, but already the sky had darkened. In the cut of the headlights, Cassie could see arrows pointing the way to the patch of land next to the local library that her town always used for the carnival. The rest of the year it would sit empty and bare, weak patches of grass struggling through hard packed dirt. But tonight, for one night only, it came alive. Feet trampled the struggling grass, fallen popcorn and spilled soda churned into the dirt, giant, metal rides cemented themselves to the earth, and greasy barkers took your tickets for a two-minute ride.

A banner advertising the carnival hung in the middle of the town, limp and drifting in the breeze. Her father drove under it with recordings of the day’s radio talk shows blasting around them as they drove. Once they passed their town’s only stoplight, Cassie could see the carnival, just like every year, sending a halo of light up into the darkening sky. The music was corny and loud, probably to cover the wrenching of the shaky machines, and she could hear it, pulsing outward, as her father pulled the car up just outside the parking lot. A man stood in the entranceway ready to collect parking money, a flashlight lit and pointing to the mangled grass on which he stood.

“Ryan not meeting you here?” Patrick asked, turning down the radio voices as he scanned the dark parking lot.

“No, I’m meeting Laney, Dad,” Cassie corrected, checking the message she just received from her best friend. “And we’re meeting in front of the organ.”

He grunted. “Maybe I should … ” She saw him reach for his seatbelt, heard the pop of the buckle in the darkness.

“Not on your life!” Cassie protested, racing to get her own seatbelt undone. “You are not walking me anywhere in that outfit!”

Her dad laughed. “You women! All so particular. You know, it’s not you walking around in pajama pants.”

“Yes, I know,” Cassie said, scooting out and shutting the door behind her. She bent toward the open car window. “Because I try not to mix my argyles with my Simpsons.”

“You have enough money?” he asked, buckling back in.

“Yep, all set,” she answered, backing away from the car and waving. He grunted his goodbye, but she knew he’d wait there until he saw her get through the parking lot. It was just his way.

Part of Cassie was glad he would. Walking through the woods at night was creepy enough, but at least Laney was next to her. It made it better, somehow. Alone, the dark creeped her out. She headed straight for the front gate, scooting past the parking attendant, and down a long line of darkened cars. The scent of stale popcorn mingled with dust to perfume the air. She looked straight ahead, not wanting to see things in the shadows between the cars. Her boots crunched on the gravel, the grating noise cutting through the faint undertone of laughter and squeals that were just up ahead. Her imagination always went into overdrive during these isolated, dark moments. She knew it, and sometimes the little movements everyone saw out of the corner of their eyes took on a life of their own. So she ignored it, not wanting to give life to the fear.

Laney was different. She’d run into the shadows and flush out the monsters, which would, of course, invariably turn out to be a rabbit, or bird, or the errant flash of light cast from someone’s wristwatch. It was always explainable. Even knowing that, Cassie wasn’t one to tempt fate. She preferred to let sleeping monsters lie.

“Have a light?”

Cassie jumped, not really expecting a voice from the dark. From between two cars, a shadow solidified. A boy stepped forward, his jeans smeared with grease and his dark hood up over his head and hanging down past his brow. She could just make out the sandy hair that hovered over the piercing, blue eyes. He stared at her as he stepped closer, his gaze sharp in the darkness.

Or was it a man? Now that he drew nearer, the lines of boyhood seemed to melt. His face was older, drawn. There were creases in the folds of his skin that she hadn’t noticed at first. Somehow, it seemed like he was wearing a cheap Halloween mask, something rubber made to emulate human skin, and suddenly she was terrified, a feeling of danger rising up from her core.