I reached up, stuck my hand in blindly, wondering if I’d find a pack of Lauren’s cigarettes or a plastic bag of pot.
But my fingers felt something smooth, hard, and rectangular. And beneath it, a little paper bundle of some sort.
I pulled the items out.
An old gold Zippo lighter with a butterfly engraved on the front. A lined piece of notebook paper with three holes punched in the side—the kind we once used for our monster book—folded into a neat rectangle, tied up with a piece of dirty garden twine.
Heart racing, I turned the lighter over in my hands, ran my fingers over the engraved initials: HEH
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Gran’s lighter.
I opened it up, flicked the wheel, and it sparked, lighting.
It had been cleaned and filled, taken care of.
Carefully, my fingers trembling slightly, I untied the string, unwrapped the paper bundle.
There was a smooth gray pebble tucked into the center.
And on the paper, a message:
The Monster gives the Monster Hunter a stone so she can make a wish.
What does the hunter wish for?
What does she dream of?
What does the Monster dream?
An old dream, a dream of endings and beginnings.
A dream of fire.
Of a lever pulled and a world of bright white light, crumbling ruin.
A single line spoken: “We belong dead.”
Do you share the same dream?
Do you dream it with me?
My skin buzzed with electricity.
Heart hammering, I looked around, eyes studying the trees, ears pricked for any sound. I had the strongest sensation that I was being watched.
That this was part of the game.
Hide-and-seek.
Catch me if you can.
“Hello?” I called out, voice small.
I was sure I could feel it, the creature’s eyes on me. I’d never been this close before.
“Are you there?” I called.
The trees rustled in the wind, leaves quaking, branches banging together.
Waves came up and lapped at the rocky shore.
The sound of a distant motorboat.
A loon called, low and mournful, a strange mocking laugh.
I tucked the lighter, paper, and stone carefully into my pocket, made an effort to inhale slowly and deeply. When I felt like I wasn’t in danger of fainting, I made my way back up the steps to the trail.
The Monster
August 20, 2019
I WATCH FROM THE trees, my heart beating so hard I think it might come flying right out of my chest, soar all the way up to the clouds, singing her name.
It’s been so long.
So, so long!
But here she is! It’s unbelievable, really. Here she is, reaching into the birch, pulling out my gifts.
I knew! I knew she’d find them. She’s a clever one, this hunter of monsters.
I bite my tongue to keep from crying out, from calling to her, using her old name, the one she left behind so long ago.
I bite down so hard I taste blood, salty and warm.
“Hello?” she calls out, her eyes moving right over me.
“Are you there?” she asks.
Yes, yes, yes!
And I almost step out, show myself.
The restraint actually physically hurts. The pull is that strong.
Magnetic.
But it’s not time yet.
I hold my breath.
Vi
July 7, 1978
I’M TELLING YOU, I saw it!” Eric insisted, voice squeaky and whistling, like someone was squeezing a dog toy in his throat.
“Describe it again,” Vi said. She felt like a detective from TV: Kojak, with his bald head and lollipops, or Columbo, with his rumpled raincoat and cigar.
They were in the clubhouse. Eric had called an emergency meeting because he claimed he’d seen a monster. A real, actual monster. And he’d seen it twice! Last night and then again this evening.
Vi was almost thankful for this new monster distraction because she’d been driving herself crazy these last three weeks thinking about eugenics and Dr. Hicks and Gran; trying to make sense of all of it in her mind.
She still hadn’t told Iris, Eric, or Patty what she’d found out the night she was in Gran’s office. In fact, she’d lied, said there was nothing there—it had been a total bust.
And Patty was still mad at her for taking off with the key.
“I’m such an idiot. You’re just a kid,” Patty had said, shaking her head. Vi felt like her skin was full of prickers, painful and dangerous.
“No harm done,” Vi kept reminding Patty. No one had seemed to notice the missing key. Vi had put it back early the following Monday when she went into the office to talk to Miss Evelyn about making a list of plants for the bird garden. Vi had brought some plant and flower books—and when Miss Ev was sitting at her desk, absorbed, Vi had slipped the key back on the hook. Easy as pie.
The missing flashlight was another matter—Vi hadn’t mentioned it to Patty because she knew Patty would flip out completely, flat-out refuse to help with any future missions or share information. Vi had walked the halls of the Inn looking for it. She’d searched the grass around the outside of the building and near the barn where Eric and Iris had been hiding. But it was nowhere to be found.
Gran had never mentioned finding the flashlight in her office. So either that meant she hadn’t found it, or that she had and was keeping quiet while she mulled it over. Since Gran had given it to her, she’d no doubt recognize it and know that Vi had been in her office unsupervised. Vi worked the problem over in her mind daily, wondering. It made her think about the chess lessons she’d been given. Gran had started teaching her to play chess a year or so ago; to be good at chess, Gran said, you had to be thinking many moves ahead—not only your own moves, but imagining what your opponent might do.
Then, yesterday, Vi was helping Gran clean her home office, going over all the books in the shelves with a feather duster, when Gran dumped out the contents of her purse on the desk: her calfskin wallet, spare eyeglasses, pens, little notepad, lipstick and face powder, cigarettes, the gold butterfly lighter, and her heavy key ring. Vi’s eyes caught on the key ring. She knew the basement key was on there—it had to be.
“Are you all right, Violet?” Gran had asked. “You seem a little preoccupied.” That was an understatement. Every time she looked at Gran, Vi imagined her helping Dr. Hicks, and it made her head hurt and her stomach ache. Sometimes, when Gran looked at her, Vi was sure she was just waiting for her to confess, that any second she was going to pull the flashlight out of her pocket and say, “Care to explain this?”
Vi forced a smile. “I’m fine, just thinking about Iris. About how frustrating it must be to not remember anything.”
Gran nodded, began putting things back in her purse. She lit a cigarette with the gold lighter. Vi focused her eyes on the flame. “Perhaps…” Gran had said, letting the flame go out, then flicking it on again. Vi smelled the lighter fluid, studied the yellow and orange dancing together over the butterfly, which seemed to twitch its wings in the flickering light. “Perhaps some things are best not remembered.”
* * *
“I KNOW WHAT I saw,” Eric said now as they all huddled together in the clubhouse. “It was real.” He held his sketchbook on his lap, drawing while he talked. They had candles lit and an old camping lantern blazing, which made the inside of the clubhouse feel warm and cozy and protected. But Vi kept looking out the window, thinking that if there was something out there, having the building all lit up was like turning on a flashing sign outside a motel: Come on in!
Eric kept looking up from his drawing at the window, too. Iris was chewing her lip, tilting back in her chair, unable to sit still.
“Last night I saw it at the edge of the woods in the yard.” Eric’s face was all pinched up and serious. “It had a loping sort of walk. A pale blank face. A hooded cape. It stopped and was just looking at the house, watching. I think…” Eric paused, looked up at both of them. “I think it was looking for us.”
“For us?” Iris said, her voice higher than usual. She thumped the feet of her chair back down onto the floor.
Eric nodded. “Maybe it knows. Knows about the club. About the monster hunting.”