The Creeping

“I’ll pick you up. I’ll be there in twenty,” I say, rushing to hang up before she can tell me no.

I decide to wait on the front porch for Sam. The rain and the uniformed cops washed away any remnants of the rank strawberries. I scan the block warily to make certain there aren’t any reporters lurking. None. They’ve probably all relocated to the Talcotts’ house. The unmarked cop car parked two houses down is the only thing out of the ordinary. I wave to Officers Reedy and Matthews from afar, figuring that they’re probably spying on me. I wonder if they use binoculars. I text Shane to let him know I’m making a quick trip to the library with Sam and Zoey, and then it’ll be straight home for me.

Sam and Zoey. Zoey’s going to murder me when I show up at her house with Sam. I sniff . . . bad word choice.

Ten minutes pass, and I start to fidget. What if Sam got home last night and realized what a massive mistake helping me is? What if he’s headed north to the border to live a life of crime, all to escape me and the impending doom I bring along? Okay, that’s unlikely, but waiting for him makes me queasy.

I focus on my shady street. Gradually, the eeriness hits me. There are barely any cars on the block. Everyone’s shades and curtains are drawn, houses wrapped up tight as presents on Christmas morning. Their porches are littered with talismans to ward off evil. Horseshoes, bells and chimes, wreaths hanging above doorways. Crucifixes sticking out of manicured lawns. It looks postapocalyptic. This is what the lost years looked like. Deserted tricycles and basketball hoops rusting in cul-de-sacs. More wild turkeys bumping along the road than cars. Empty buses headed to school. Kids didn’t go anywhere without their parents. And everyone went to church, because people find God fast when stuff scares the crap out of them.

I try to laugh it off. People just being paranoid and superstitious. So what? It’s like I’m on the set of a B-movie horror flick. But all I can think is: if they only knew. If they only knew that this happened before . . . over seventy years ago. If they only knew what Jane Doe was clasping in her dainty hand. If they only knew she was scalped. If they only knew what six-year-old me was saying when I came back that day. If they did, they’d be sitting on their porches with shotguns rather than leaving a couple of violet rabbit’s feet to do the job.





Chapter Sixteen


Sam’s wagon roars into the driveway, and I book it a little too quickly to climb into the passenger seat.

“Good morning,” he says with gusto. He smells vaguely like mint and toast. His cheeks glow pink, and the fringes of his eyelashes arch as he smiles. “Sorry it took me so long. Mom wouldn’t let me leave before I ate breakfast with her.”

“No worries.” I settle back into the familiar seat and suppress a sigh. “Could we stop by Zoey’s on the way? She’s going to come with,” I say.

Sam’s wide eyes flit back and forth between me and the road. “Zoey agreed to be in the same room as me?” he asks dubiously.

I act preoccupied with my reflection in the mirror. “Mm-hmm.” I try for nonchalance.

“Huh. I guess there’s a first time for everything,” he says in a pluckily optimistic way that makes me feel guilty for lying. “Daniel never called me back last night. I’ll try him again after the library. He’s probably just lying low with his dad.” I shrug. Daniel is the least of my worries. First I have to survive Zoey; then I have to figure out a way to tell Sam and Zoey what I remembered.

Zoey lives on the opposite side of downtown from me, and even though fifteen blocks are all that separate our two houses, it’s like traveling from one world to the next. The homes get dollhouse small, and on every other street there’s a cluster of trailers. Pretty ones with plastic pink flamingos and fake green hedges, but still . . . houses on wheels. If the train tracks actually ran through town, this would be the wrong side of them. Zoey will antagonize just about everyone for just about everything, except not having a lot of money. Once I caught her in the locker room when she thought she was alone, telling her reflection that money can’t buy popularity. I think it probably can in most places, but not at our school, not under Zoey’s watch.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Sam when he throws the car into park in Zoey’s gravel driveway.