18
Salem
Bonfires and Ghost Stories
I loved Halloween. It had been my favorite holiday ever since I was a child, when my mom and I would handcraft elaborate costumes that I would proudly wear to school, usually losing bits of tinsel, glitter, and felt throughout the day.
Luckily, I had inherited my mom’s crafting skills.
The costume I’d brought to Blackridge was simple, but I thought it was adorable.
“What are you?” Rayne said, staring at my all-pink getup before I left the house.
“An axolotl!” I said excitedly. “See?” I pointed to my pink bucket hat, which I had adorned with sparkly ruffles and two big googly eyes. But Rayne still looked thoroughly confused. “You know, the little pink amphibians?”
“So you’re... a salamander?” she said slowly, and shook her head when I nodded excitedly. “Well, you’re the prettiest salamander I’ve ever seen. Good job.”
Her awkward praise made me blush the same shade as my clothes. “What are you going to dress as?”
“Myself.” She was preoccupied with her backpack, which I’d yet to see her leave home without. She always packed like she was going on an overnight trip instead of a few miles into town.
“Aw, come on, just wear a costume from last year!”
“There’s no costume from last year. I’ve never dressed up.”
“Never?” I gasped. “Not once? Even when you were little?”
She shook her head. “Dad didn’t approve. We’re lucky the festival goes on at all. Certain folks still don’t approve.”
My soul was shaken, but there was no way I was letting Rayne miss out on another year of Halloween fun. “What if I made you a costume?” She raised one eyebrow skeptically. “I’ll be quick! I just need some bobby pins, a sharpie, and my makeup bag—wait right there!”
When I returned, she was seated in a chair in the foyer. Her hands were folded on her lap, her face so solemn one would think she was waiting for a doctor. When she spotted the makeup bag in my hands, her eyes widened slightly.
Hoping to reassure her, I promised, “I’ll keep it really simple. Just a little eyeliner on the tip of your nose... and your cheeks...”
“Are you making me into a black cat?” she said as I leaned close with a stick of black eyeliner.
“Of course! It’s been the go-to costume for people who don’t know what to dress as since, like, the inception of Halloween. And it fits your personality.”
“It... what?”
“N-never mind, just hold still.” I bit my lip in concentration as I steadied my hand to draw on her nose. I tucked my left hand beneath her chin, holding her face as I delicately drew a dot to mimic a cat nose.
She held perfectly still, and when I straightened up to check my work, she said, “I look ridiculous, don’t I?”
“You look beautiful.”
She blinked rapidly, startled. I’d even startled myself.
Flustered now, I leaned down again to complete her whiskers.
But the angle was tricky, my legs bumping against her chair.
I put one knee up on her seat to balance myself, right next to her thigh.
Her hand came around my waist, and the next thing I knew, she’d pulled me toward her and I was straddling her lap.
Our chests touched. With her hand against my lower back, she closed her eyes and said, “You’re good. Go on.”
How was she so calm? The eyeliner was going to shake out of my hand.
Clenching my entire body to steady myself, I drew her whiskers like the final strokes of paint on a masterpiece.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and I could feel her heartbeat beneath my hand when I rested it gently against her neck.
“Done,” I said softly. She didn’t remove her hand from my lower back as she opened her eyes and wrinkled her nose a few times, as if getting used to the makeup on it. “Do you wanna see?”
“That’s okay.” She smiled. “You already told me how I look.”
The boom and crackle of fireworks filled the air, orange and red sparks twinkling in the cloudy sky. The streets of Marihope smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove, as if the entire town had been dipped in pumpkin spice.
The town center was buzzing with people, the busiest I’d seen the island since I arrived.
Jack-o’-lanterns decorated nearly every doorstep and lined the sidewalks, illuminating our way with their fluttering candles.
Red and orange flags were draped between the light posts, waving in the cold breeze.
Creepy scarecrows with burlap bodies and button eyes guarded the way, while cardboard cutouts of black bats dangled from the trees.
There were no children in costumes running about.
In fact, I didn’t see any children at all until we got closer to the church.
Tented stalls were set up there in the square, selling baked goods, vegetables, and canned fruits.
There were a couple of small carnival rides, including a miniature Ferris wheel where children rode in multicolored swinging baskets as the wheel creaked round and round like a rusty cog.
A group of elementary-aged children were gathered at a particularly lively stall, giggling as they decorated caramel apples with marshmallows and chocolate chips.
“Rayne! Hi!” A little hand shot up from the pack, and Rebecca suddenly sprinted over, a huge smile on her face. Rachel ran behind her, struggling to keep up as her candy bucket swung in her hand.
Rebecca flapped her arms, which were lined with long feathers glued to her sweater. “Guess what I am! Guess!”
“A seahawk, of course,” Rayne said. “Just look at those wings!”
“Yeah!” Rebecca stomped her foot fiercely. “Amanda told me I looked like a chicken. I am not a chicken.”
“Rayne is a kitty!” Rachel giggled, pointing her small hand at Rayne’s whiskered face and giving a wide gap-toothed grin. She was dressed as a sheep, with a fluffy white coat, pants, and floppy felt ears. Rebecca’s eyes instantly lit up with excitement.
“I love your costume!” she exclaimed, feathers flying from her excited bouncing. She looked at me and shyly added, “I like yours too.”
“Salem helped me out with it,” Rayne said, adjusting the small cardboard ears I’d made her. I’d cut them out of an old box, colored them with black marker, and glued them to bobby pins to stick in her hair. “What do you think, do I make a good black cat?”
“Yes!” The girls responded in unison. They looked at Rayne with complete adoration, and little Rachel reached up to take her hand.
“Come make candy apples with us!” she said, tugging Rayne toward the gaggle of other children.
Rayne squat down to her level, saying gently, “Maybe later, okay? I’m going to spend some time with Salem.”
Rebecca looked between us, and her mouth suddenly formed an O of understanding. She giggled, leaned down to her sister’s ear, and in a too-loud whisper, said, “Remember what Daddy said? They’re on a date!”
Rebecca dragged her sister back to join the other children as my heart sped up to a gallop. Dating? People were talking about us... dating ? Rayne’s cheeks were red, and she folded her arms with an exasperated sigh.
“The struggles of living in a small town, right?” I teased, hoping to laugh off the uncertainty. “Everybody gossips.”
To my surprise, she smiled despite her blush. “At least I’m keeping them entertained.” She looked at me, her eyes reflecting the bonfire’s light. “And at least its not a bad rumor, for once.”
An elderly couple were serving cups of hot chocolate, apple cider, and warm spiced rum from a nearby stall, so Rayne and I got in line.
She knew everyone by name, chatting with the woman in front of us, then greeting the couple when we ordered.
I got a lot of side-eye and long, lingering looks from the people she chatted with, but Rayne never satisfied their obvious but unspoken questions.
As we walked away with our warm beverages, Rayne suddenly put her arm around my shoulders.
“People aren’t used to seeing visitors here this late in the year,” she said. “Don’t mind them. People are just nosy.”
I expected her to remove her arm. She didn’t.
I was trying not to think about the fact that I had to leave tomorrow. My bag wasn’t even packed yet, so naturally I’d probably be panicking in the morning. I just wanted to enjoy my last night here, with the woman I’d probably never see again.
Walking with her like this, winding through the crowd as we sipped our drinks, I almost felt like things could be different. Maybe...
“Are you okay?” Rayne said suddenly. I hadn’t even realized I’d given any indication of my growing distress. “Why are you holding your breath?”
“I’m not.” I took several rapid breaths, trying to hide that I was slowly fossilizing into a little ball of anxiety. “I’m fine. Just a little cold.”
She didn’t believe me. Her expression made that so obvious my face began to heat, and I gulped my drink just to hide from her.
But before she could pry any further, a man approached us from across the square, raising his hand in greeting.
His beard was light brown and thick, his skin pale and cheeks reddened.
“Evening, Sheriff,” Rayne said, clasping his hand and giving it a shake. “How’s the night been?”
With a soft-spoken drawl, he folded his arms and surveyed the crowd. “Been quiet. Just a few kids breaking bottles. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand to me. “Name is John. We don’t often see guests this late in the year.”
“She’s leaving tomorrow,” Rayne said. The man actually looked relieved.
It was doubtlessly just the spiced rum making me bold, but I very nearly demanded to know why everyone was so eager for me to leave.
It was the first time I’d seen an officer on the island. He wore street clothes instead of a uniform, with his badge, number, and name, John Keatin , embroidered on his jacket. He wasn’t much for conversation though, and kept surveying the crowd like he expected to see something suspicious.
“Hope you enjoy your night,” he said, giving me a nod before looking at Rayne. He seemed to finally realize she was dressed up, and stared in silence for a moment before muttering, “Black cat, huh?”
Rayne folded her arms, looking every bit the part. “Yep.”
He made a sound that could have been a laugh, but he didn’t look very entertained. “Do you have a moment to speak in private, Miss Balfour?”
Rayne clasped my arm, leaning close to say, “Don’t go too far. I’ll be right back.” She and the sheriff stepped away into the crowd, out of my earshot, and I frowned.
It was hard to shake the feeling there was some kind of lurking danger here. The cozy, peaceful vibe was a pretty thin veneer, when it was present at all. Someone or... something... had killed Rayne’s mom. And I had yet to hear any news about Martin and George being found.
As I stood there sipping my drink and waiting for Rayne’s return, I spotted a bonfire in the churchyard.
Feeling the chill nipping at my nose, I wandered toward it for warmth.
The pleasant scent of woodsmoke swirled around me, and I gave an awkward smile to the group of teenagers seated on a bench nearby.
They were laughing boisterously, obviously sneaking sips of liquor from flasks they passed between one another.
I did my best to avoid eye contact, but I listened intently.
“And when they found him, his eyes... had been hollowed out!” one of the boys shouted triumphantly, using his fingers to hold his eyes open eerily wide.
The girls in his circle shrieked and giggled; the guys smirked.
The boy took a few triumphant bows as he finished his story, and his friends began shouting requests.
“Which one should I tell next? Come on, I’ve got a million of them, give me a good topic, something creepy. ”
As he looked around, our eyes met. And for some reason, I said, “Tell the story of the angel.”
The entire group instantly fell silent. Smiles faded, and they looked among one another with confusion. Two of the girls whispered to each other, eyeing me with suspicion. I regretted opening my mouth at all.
But the boy nodded slowly. “Alright. Okay. You wanna hear about the Angel of Blackridge?”
One of his friends elbowed him hard. “Come on, Michael, we’re not supposed—”
“It’s Halloween, dude! It’s just a ghost story, don’t be a baby.
” Michael cleared his throat and stood up, pulling his jacket’s hood up and casting his face into shadow.
When he spoke again, he lowered his voice to a dramatic baritone.
“This is the story of Blackridge’s curse, and it all starts with a preacher. ”