The Creeping

In the back of my mind I never stop searching for anything to bridge the divide between us. Or at least to distract him from it. “I remembered something the other night at Blackdog.” I take a deep breath, preparing myself to admit it out loud. “I saw Jeanie. I mean, I didn’t actually see her there, but I remembered what she looked like that day, and then I imagined her standing by the bonfire.”


Sam adjusts his pace so we’re walking abreast. “That might not be a memory. Even I can think of what Jeanie looked like the day she disappeared from hearing about it on the news.”

“But I remembered things that no one knows. Like that Jeanie was afraid, really afraid, and that she wet her pants.” I lower my voice. “Something, I’m not sure what, had hit her in the head, and there was blood dripping from her scalp.”

He catches my eye. “You didn’t tell anyone?” he asks.

“No. You’re it,” I say, a little jitter in my voice as I look away. “Something happened to Jane Doe’s head, too. It looked like her whole scalp was torn off,” I finish in a whisper.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” he says.

I bob my head and try to concentrate on pleasanter things. Sam swings his arms as he walks. Each step is animated and alive with energy. His hand nearest to me looks really empty, and I wish I had the courage to reach for it. What a joke. After all, he doesn’t think there’s any of me left. He’d pull away, reject me. And what the hell is wrong with me anyway? There are about a trillion reasons why Sam Worth is not the kind of guy I flirt with.

We walk without speaking for thirty more minutes. Every few paces I cave to paranoia and glance over my shoulder. But nothing’s following us. Shane is going to be furious when his officers tell him we ditched them. If Dad actually comes home from the office tonight, he’ll be angry too. Although Dad’s anger won’t last. By the time he’s done baking a batch of his snickerdoodles, he’ll forget he’s not speaking to me.

As we near Jeanie’s, the wood grows denser with birch, the trunks covered in thin, peeling white bark like the shedding skin of a snake. There are rogue flashes of rust-colored brick walls and white picket fences through the slim trunks. We’re close to neighborhoods now. Belts of forest crisscross the town of Savage, a patchwork of trees cutting up the roads and houses. It’s possible to travel from one end of town to the other completely sheltered by woods. If we turned northeast rather than northwest, we’d end up in Zoey’s backyard.

“Hey, I didn’t realize that Zoey’s and Jeanie’s were so close,” I say. Sam ignores me. I try again. “Do you like working at BigBox?”

He answers without sparing me a glance. “It’s not exactly my dream job, but it does pay enough for me to save.”

“Save for what?”

“College tuition.”

“But won’t your parents . . .” I let the question trail off, because it sounds ruder than I expected.

“They would if they could. Not everyone has money to go to whatever school they want.” There it is again. I know I’m lucky. But it’s not like Sam to be sour about anything.

“Sorry,” he says, half turning to me as he smiles hesitantly, “That was unfair. It’s been worse over the past year since Dad was laid off. He picks up odd jobs, but it’s not really enough.” I haven’t thought about Sam’s parents in forever. Now I remember his mom telling jokes and his dad working long hours at Halper’s Cannery, where he managed the warehouse. Sam’s dad is a large, burly man; although Sam has his size, they were never anything alike. His dad was gruff and quiet, kind of frightening to a kid.

I catch up to Sam, pushing myself to twice my comfortable speed, bumping over the mush of pine needles and moss, dabbing sweat from my forehead. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. Why would you?”

I fall quiet. Again, Sam’s right. Why would I know? He’s asked me stuff almost every chance he gets, and I’ve repaid him by never asking back. I’ve shrugged off all the little thoughtful things Sam’s done for me over the years. I frown at the perky yellow dandelions sprouting from the forest floor. They look smug; they make me feel like an abominable snowgirl. For a few paces I go out of my way to stomp on the little blossoms. I chose Zoey five years ago, but here I am, hiking through the woods with Sam, the only friend who has my back.

He takes off in an easy jog. “It’s just up ahead.”