Haunted

RAVEN

I couldn’t believe Grace’s scheme had actually worked.

After all of her pushing and prodding over the years, she’d finally gotten me to hang out with living, breathing teenagers.

If only she knew how to remedy my social anxiety.

Emily had invited me to the lake with her; it was, apparently, the “place to be” on a summer afternoon in Elk Springs.

I’d tried to get more out of her about Cade, but her friend Amanda had called just as she was about to dish out the details.

Looked like I’d have to wait.

Or maybe do some digging of my own.

We wove our way through the helter-skelter of cars and pickup trucks parked in a grassy field that was intended to serve as a parking lot.

Between the parking lot and the lake sat a sliver of woods that extended back toward the thick brush at the base of the nearby mountains.

A dozen or so teenagers loitered beneath the cover of the trees, passing joints and sipping on cans of cheap light beer.

Emily waved to a few of them as we passed through.

I understood immediately why the lake was such a popular destination.

It sat unperturbed in front of one of the tallest peaks near the small town of Elk Springs, and due to the high elevation, it had an impressive view of the surrounding Rocky Mountains.

The beach was much larger than I’d anticipated and was completely swamped with people.

To the left was a tiny concession stand, which smelled of sickly sweet funnel cakes, and to the right was a lineup of volleyball courts—each claimed by a pack of rambunctious high schoolers.

“This place is always so crowded,” said Emily, making a face.

We headed toward the volleyball courts, Emily waving to a few more teenagers along the way.

This girl knows everyone.

She stopped when we reached a court where two guys around my age were wrestling in the sand, while two girls sat nearby, watching them with feigned interest.

“Guys, I want you to meet Raven,” said Emily.

One of the girls, who was even shorter than me and had long, curly, blonde hair, shot up out of her beach chair to throw her arms around me.

I wasn’t exactly a hugger, but there were worse things in the world, I supposed.

“I’m Amanda,” she said.

Amanda took a step back, staring at me. “God, you’re so pretty. But it’s like the kind where you’re not really trying.”

Never one to be the center of attention, I felt my face go cherry red.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” said the other girl, who was tall, thin, and had short lilac hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. “At two in the afternoon.”

Amanda made a face and returned to her seat, sulking. “I’m not drunk. I’m just buzzing.”

“That’s Gretchen,” Emily chimed in, and Gretchen wriggled her fingers at me.

“Oh my Lord, I don’t believe it: fresh meat!”

One of the boys playing volleyball—a tall, athletic guy with big brown eyes and dark hair—approached me, smiling.

“Seriously, the last time someone actually moved to this town was the ’90s.” He thought for a second. “Well, besides Em.”

I believe it.

“I’m AJ,” he continued, twirling the volleyball on his fingertip. “Let me know if you ever get lonely,” he said, smirking. “I get lonely too.”

“Gross!” yelled Amanda, rolling her eyes. “Leave the poor girl alone, you predator.”

AJ straightened. “Sorry about my girlfriend. Sometimes she’s a”—he leaned in close to whisper into my ear—“wet blanket, if you know what I mean.”

He sauntered over to where Amanda was sitting and held out an expectant hand.

“Pass me a beer, my lady.”

She jumped to her feet, arms crossed, eye level with his chest. “Get it yourself.”

“You know I only have eyes for you. I was just messing with her,” said AJ, making a show of pouting.

In a flash, Amanda stuck out her tiny fist and punched his right bicep. He didn’t even flinch.

“Feel better?”

She nodded.

It almost felt rude to watch, like their aggressive banter was a sort of foreplay.

“Get a room,” said the other boy, approaching us from across the court. He was even more ripped than AJ and had dirty-blond hair that hung in messy curls around his face.

“Wait, did I hear you say that it’s already two?”

“Yup,” Gretchen replied.

“Shit, I’m late for practice.”

The guy brushed past me and hastily grabbed his things from one of the empty chairs.

“See y’all later.” And then he was off, running barefoot toward the trees.

“That’s Amanda’s brother, Caleb,” said Emily, taking a seat on one of the beach chairs. I followed suit, kicking off my sneakers. “He’s, like, a really competitive bull rider.”

“You’re joking.” I laughed incredulously. “That’s an actual thing?”

“Sadly,” said Amanda, who was seated in AJ’s lap. “So where are you from, anyway?”

“Chicago. Before that, it was Dallas, then New York. Then—well, a lot of places.”

“Lucky,” said Gretchen. “This place sucks. There’s not a single thing interesting going on in Elk Springs.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” said Emily. “We do have Willy Woods.”

I perked up. “Who’s that?”

The name sounded kind of familiar.

I was sure I’d heard it before.

“The King of Terror,” said AJ in a ghostly voice. He waved his fingers at me for good measure.

Okay, I definitely knew that name.

Any true crime enthusiast, or really any American above the age of ten, would know that name.

The name of one of the most notorious serial killers of the twenty-first century.

“He lived here?”

“Everyone here is kind of obsessed with the whole thing,” said Emily, reaching for her sunglasses.

“Probably because half of the town had a hard-on for him.” Gretchen snorted.

“Have you ever seen a picture of him? Just—wow,” Amanda added.

I shook my head, not seeing what that had to do with anything.

“Google it,” Amanda said.

“He was like the JFK of this place,” Gretchen continued. “Super involved in everything. The PTA, neighborhood watch—all that shit. Went to church every Sunday.”

“They had to move his trial to Sugar Creek because they said it wouldn’t be fair here. Because people loved him too much. Refused to believe the evidence,” said Emily.

I couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly have that much charisma. How someone could fool people like that—make them ignore the facts.

“Gretch, wasn’t your mom a witness in that case?” Amanda asked suddenly. “She, like, testified that he was sketchy or whatever.”

Gretchen yawned. “Yeah. Your mom tell you that?”

Amanda nodded. “She still keeps scrapbooks of all of the articles she wrote on that case.” She turned to me. “It’s like a really sad, creepy shrine in our living room.”

“He was my Little League coach,” said AJ quietly. “It was like he was two people, and he could just switch back and forth between them whenever he wanted.”

For some reason, his words resonated with me.

Made me think about Cade…

“Wait.” I sat up straight. “Is he related to Cade Woods?”

CADE

There was something strange about that girl.

Well, besides the fact that she talked to herself, or her imaginary friends, or whatever that was.

I hadn’t picked out much of what exactly she was saying, but I did distinctly hear her say something about walking into “the light.”

And I wasn’t about to drop it.

As the resident social pariah of Elk Springs, I’d taken it upon myself to investigate any mysterious newcomers.

I slammed the door of my beat-up Camaro and stood for a moment outside of the tiny house, mentally preparing myself.

For the last hour I’d been driving around the block on my way back from the grocery store, watching the sun sink lower and lower, avoiding the turn onto my street.

Trying to delay the inevitable.

But everyone had to go home at some point, didn’t they?

The house was completely dark—no signs of life anywhere.

But I knew better.

“Aunt Lynn?” I called, switching on the foyer light and casting a look about the living room.

Silence.

Bringing the bag of groceries into the kitchen, I restocked the fridge swiftly—hoping that she’d already gone to sleep.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and beelined for my bedroom, just down the hall.

“How nice of you to show up.”

Her voice was raspy from all of the cigarettes she’d smoked over the years—an insufficient remedy to her insufferable anxiety.

I stiffened.

She was sitting in the dining room, just off of the kitchen, under the cover of darkness.

With the flick of a lighter, her face lit up for a moment, and I caught sight of her usual scowl.

The last few years had not been kind to my aunt. Her skin was wrinkled and weathered, her hair almost entirely gray—despite her only being forty-five years old.

“Did you bring my medicines?”

I nodded.

“Speak up, boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Aunt Lynn had become my unwilling guardian after my father’s incarceration.

After my mother’s sudden death.

Brain cancer. Diagnosed just days before my father’s trial.

In a matter of two weeks, my father was placed on death row, and my mother was dead.

Aunt Lynn had always maintained that her sister’s death was Willy’s fault.

That my mom had died from the shock that her husband was such a deplorable monster. Right beneath her nose. Under her roof.

Died from the thought that her only son was just like him.

Destined to become a monster too.

For a God-fearing woman, whose life was measured in psalms and prayers and commandments, the thought was nauseating.

My aunt, who hated me almost as much as she did my father, hadn’t left the house in eight years.

People in town were starting to talk. To say that Willy had killed her too.

Or that his son had.

I let them believe it. Somehow it seemed better than the truth.

***

I lay on my back, staring at the water damage on the ceiling above my bed, half zoned out—thinking about Raven Zheng—half listening to the police scanner.

It was an old piece of junk I’d found at a pawnshop a couple years before.

But it was an old piece of junk that worked.

The usual nothing: kids drinking by the lake, someone doing fifteen over the speed limit down Main.

Nothing ever happened in Elk Springs.

Not anymore.

But then I heard it.

“All units advise: we have a 10-54 at 24 Marbury Street.”

I shot straight up, blood going cold.

I’d listened to my radio long enough to pick up most of the code.

10-54: A dead body.

The radio went silent for a moment. Staticky.

And then:

“Come again?”

“We have a 10-54—well, it’s more of a 10—um…”

The officer paused for a moment. Deliberating.

“Honestly, you just need to see it for yourself.”

I was out the door in less than five seconds.