Two Can Keep a Secret(35)
“No,” Malcolm says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His voice is quiet, his eyes on the stage. “Not then, and not now.”
Every once in a while, it feels like Malcolm and I are having some kind of sub-conversation that we don’t acknowledge. We’re talking about football and his brother, supposedly, but we’re also talking about before and after. It’s how I think about Sadie—that she was one way before the kind of loss that rips your world apart, and a different version of herself afterward. Even though I didn’t know her until Sarah was long gone, I’m sure it’s true.
I want to ask Malcolm more, but before I can Mia reaches across me and punches him in the arm. “Hey,” she says. “Did you do the thing?”
“No,” Malcolm says, avoiding Mia’s gaze. She glances between us and smirks, and I get the distinct feeling that I’m missing something.
“And let’s not forget, after we defeat Solsbury tomorrow—and we will—we’ve got our biggest test of the season with the homecoming game next week,” Coach Gagnon says. Between his perfectly bald head and the shadows cast by the Big Top’s stadium lighting, he looks like an exceptionally enthusiastic alien. “We’re up against Lutheran, our only defeat last year. But that’s not going to happen this time around! Because this time—”
A loud popping noise fills my ears, making me jump. The bright lights snap off and the LED screen goes black, then flashes to life again. Static fills the screen, followed by a photo of Lacey in her homecoming crown, smiling at the camera. The crowd gasps, and Malcolm goes rigid beside me.
Then Lacey’s picture rips in two, replaced by three others: Brooke, Katrin, and me. Theirs are class photos, but mine is a candid, with my face half-turned from the camera. A chill inches up my spine as I recognize the hoodie I wore yesterday when Ezra and I walked downtown to meet Malcolm and Mia at Bartley’s.
Somebody was watching us. Following us.
Horror-movie laughter starts spilling from the speakers, literal mua-ha-has that echo through the tent as what looks like thick red liquid drips down the screen, followed by jagged white letters: SOON. When it fades away, the Bloody Big Top is utterly silent. Everyone is frozen, with one exception: Meli Dinglasa from Channel 5. She strides purposefully onto the stage toward Coach Gagnon, with her microphone outstretched and a cameraman at her heels.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Malcolm
Saturday, September 28
The text from Declan comes as I’m walking against the departing crowds at Fright Farm Saturday night: In town for a few hours. Don’t freak out.
I almost text back I’m at the scene of your alleged crime. Don’t freak out, but manage to restrain myself to a simple What for? Which he ignores. I stuff the phone back in my pocket. If Declan’s been paying attention to the local news, he knows about last night’s pep rally turned stalker sideshow. I hope he was in New Hampshire surrounded by people when all that went down, or he’s only going to make the speculation worse.
Not my problem. Tonight I’m just the chauffeur, collecting Ellery and Ezra after work. No way is their grandmother letting them walk through the woods after what happened last night. To be honest, I’m a little surprised she agreed to let me pick them up, but Ellery says closing is two hours past Mrs. Corcoran’s usual bedtime.
I expect the House of Horrors to be empty, but music and laughter spill out toward me as I approach the building. The entire park was built around this house, an old Victorian at the edge of what used to be another wooded area. I’ve seen pictures of it before it became a theme park attraction, and it was always stately but worn-looking—as if its turrets were about to crumble, or the steps leading up to the wide porch would collapse if you stepped on them wrong. It still looks like that, but now it’s all part of the atmosphere.
I haven’t been here since I was ten, when Declan and his friends brought me. They took off when we were halfway through, like the assholes they were, and I had to go through the rest of the house on my own. Every single room freaked me out. I had nightmares for weeks about a guy in a bloody bathtub with stumps for legs.
My brother laughed when I finally stumbled out of the House of Horrors, snotty-nosed and terrified. Don’t be such a wuss, Mal. None of it’s real.
The music gets louder as I climb the steps and turn the doorknob. It doesn’t budge, and there’s no bell. I knock a few times, which feels weird, like, who do I expect to answer the door at a haunted house, exactly? Nobody does, so I head back down the stairs and edge around to the back. When I turn the corner, I see concrete steps leading down to a door that’s wedged open with a piece of wood. I descend the stairs and push the door open.
I’m in a basement room that looks like it’s part dressing room, part staff room. The space is large, dimly lit, and cluttered with shelves and clothes racks. A vanity with an oversized bulb mirror is shoved to one side, its surface covered with jars and bottles. Two cracked leather couches line the walls, with a glass-topped end table between them. There’s a closet-sized bathroom to the left, and a half-open door in front of me that leads into a small office.
I’m hovering a few steps inside, searching for a way upstairs, when a hand pushes open a frayed velvet curtain on the opposite end of the room. The sudden movement makes me gasp like a scared kid, and the girl who steps through the curtain laughs. She’s almost as tall as I am, dressed in a tight black tank top that shows off intricate tattoos against brown skin. She looks like she could be a few years older than me. “Boo,” she says, then crosses her arms and cocks her head. “Party crasher?”