Claire Legrand

When Grandma comes up to say it’s time for bed, I pretend I am already asleep.

I am too close to blurting out my secret to her:

How I didn’t get up to brush my teeth or wash my face, not because I am lazy but because I couldn’t. It was physically impossible. My body was too heavy to move.

How I am sinking into cold, blue water, a blue nothing like the warm music filling the house downstairs.

How I am finding it difficult to breathe. How my skin is crawling with something like fear.

I cannot say these things to anyone, especially not to Grandma.

So I lie there with my eyes closed while Grandma turns off the light.

It is easier this way.

It’s silly to think of this place as mine, after only a week. I haven’t had the time to properly explore yet, since that first day with Gretchen. But they say people can fall in love in a day, or even in a moment.

Now three more people know about the Everwood. It is no longer only mine.

I am not sure how I feel about that. It seemed like a good idea, and yet now I am not so sure.

I follow my cousins up the stone steps. We are going slowly, because Dex keeps slipping in the dark.

Too slowly.

I would like to get back inside now, please, so I can have some time alone to think.

I need some time.

I need to be alone.

Now.

Before Grandma finds us. Before anyone sees me. Before the others change their minds and start laughing at me for playing my stupid Everwood game.

Now.

Now.

Now.

But it is too late; it is already happening.

It slides over me like I have walked through an icy veil:

Fear.

“The Everwood makes whatever is inside us come to life,” admitted the orphan girl. “That’s what the snake said.”

“And?” prompted the fox.

“And my darkness will bring out the Everwood’s darkness.”

“The forest is not as strong as it once was,” said the fox.

The orphan girl wanted to look away, but did not. “Yes.”

“And what is inside you, child?” The fox’s expression turned serious. “What have you brought into these woods? Fear, perhaps?”

The orphan girl stiffened. “I am not afraid of forests.”

“No. You are afraid of yourself.”

“State your business,” he says.

“My name is Finley Hart, and this is my cousin Gretchen—”

Gretchen nudges me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m Jack,” says the medium-sized boy. Then he points to the oldest boy. “That’s Cole. And the little one’s Bennett.”

“Now, remember the ground rules: Not one inch outside the pit, like Grandma said.”

“Yes, sir,” we all say.

“And you won’t let the twins climb around here by themselves?”

“No, sir.”

Grandpa looks at each of us like he is searching for evidence of a lie. Gretchen stares back so intensely that I almost crack up. Dex picks his nose and inspects the findings.

Satisfied, Grandpa nods. “Well, then. Go nuts. But not too nuts. And take your shoes off before you come in for dinner.”

Gretchen asks, “What if we didn’t? What then?”

“Apocalypse, probably.”

The Bailey boy jumps onto its porch and yells back at us, “Come inside . . . if you dare!”

He laughs, slams the door, and disappears.

“What’ll we do?” Gretchen whispers. “We can’t go in there, not with the Baileys inside!”

A dry summer wind sweeps across the field toward the house. I have to follow it. When the Everwood speaks, only fools choose not to listen.

“Yes, we can,” I say. “And we will. Right now.”

Jack is watching me. I stare right back at him. I am not afraid of pirates.

“You’ll give us our stuff back,” I say. “You don’t look dishonorable.”

In fact they do, but flattery might be our best bet in this situation.

“Ha!” Cole grins. “Sure we do. We’re Baileys. Didn’t your grandparents warn you about us?”

“Actually, they did,” says Gretchen.

“Yeah? And what did they say?”

I don’t want Gretchen to make things worse, so I interrupt. “Did you know there are gravestones under that tree in the back?”

“Yeah,” says Jack. “Why do you care?”

“Whose are they?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“Well, didn’t you ever try to look?”

“Nah. Don’t care.”

“Can I clean them off?”

Gretchen tugs on my sleeve. “Fin, let’s just go.”

“Why do you care about them?” Jack asks me.

“Because it’s disrespectful to leave them dirty,” I say. “People are supposed to take care of the dead.”

No one says anything. Jack pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket—my list of favorite words—and carefully smooths out the wrinkles.

“Is this yours?” he asks me.

I could snatch it away from him and run, but I stay put. “Yes.”

He reads over the list. “Sinister. Footfall. There are a lot of words here.”

“I’ve worked hard on them. I love words.”

Jack scratches the back of his head, messing up his hair. He disappears and comes back with our box.

“Jack!” hisses Cole. “What are you doing, man? Come on.”

“You can have this back,” says Jack, “but only if you clean up the gravestones.”

I think about that. “We can’t do it today. We have to get home.”

“Then when you come back to clean, you can have your stuff.”

Gretchen looks ready to bite him. “Why can’t you clean them off?”

Jack grins. “Because Cole’s scared of ghosts and doesn’t want to ‘curse our family.’ ”

“Shut up, Jack!” Cole pushes him, his face turning red. “I just hate cleaning. It’s pointless.”

I hold out my hand. “It’s a deal.”

“Kennedy, are you all right with the twins?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kennedy chirps. When Grandma kisses her cheek, Kennedy beams.

I concentrate hard on cutting my construction paper into a spiky lion’s mane for Dex. I want to ask Grandma to kiss my cheek too, but I haven’t seen my cousins ask for kisses; perhaps they must be earned.

“Jack?” I call out.

Jack comes out onto the front porch. “Yeah?”

“Does the house have a name?”

“Not really. Why?”

“We should call it the Bone House.” I pause. “You know, because of the graves.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like that.”

“We’ll come back as soon as we can.”

“Okay. Sorry about all this. I was bored. I wasn’t trying to be mean. It’s usually the same old stuff around here, you know?”

“I guess.”

“And hey, Finley?”

“Yeah?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry about your words. I’ll keep them safe.”

I don’t say thank you. It seems strange to say thank you to someone who has stolen from you. But I think about Jack’s voice all the way home, and how he held my list in his hands like he knew it was a piece of my own heart.