Chapter 11
A BODY IN THE RIVER
For a disorienting second, I think this is part of the story—the screaming. A carefully placed sound effect. But the scream keeps going and the police are running.
People surge to their feet, myself included.
Mayor Ridley jumps onto the dais, as though the scream is a threat hurtling itself toward Mistress Bramble, like she is the kind of woman who might need his protection. She rises from her chair and peers into the dark as officers converge upon the covered bridge over the Blackwillow River.
“Is somebody hurt?”
“What’s going on?”
“Who’s screaming?”
The questions pop like heated kernels through the crowd.
I grab Jude’s hand and we weave our way through the people, Twig hobbling behind us in his boot.
By the time we reach the food carts, the officers and several volunteers have formed a human barrier, blocking curious onlookers who have taken out their phones and turned on their cameras.
“Off the path,” Harper’s brother, Jake, commands. “Keep it clear.”
I rise on tiptoe and look toward the river shrouded in fog, trying to figure out who was screaming and why.
A journalist on the scene covering the event calls out questions the officers ignore.
They just command the rubberneckers to back up, clear out as Jake speaks into his walkie-talkie.
“Possible body in the water. Request Fire and EMS. Close both ends of the bridge.”
A possible body.
My heart thuds in my ears, a dull echo as I make sense of the implications. Then I spot them—Chief Perry ushering Brynn Alcott away, toward one of the picnic tables, while Caleb Briggs and Brady Keller follow uncertainly behind. Three of my classmates.
“Where are you going?” Harper asks as I squeeze between her and Naomi, doubling back so I can get closer to that picnic table.
Jude comes with me.
We stay in the shadows, ears perked as Chief Perry crouches in front of Brynn and attempts to calm her. Visibly shaking, she keeps repeating the same frantic words, over and over.
“It was a body. It was a body. I saw a dead body.”
Under the park’s lights, the boys have lost their coloring. Caleb stands there like a marionette without his strings. Brady is more animated, shifting his weight with his hands on his head.
A volunteer brings Brynn a blanket.
But it doesn’t help.
She seems to be in full blown shock.
Caleb and Brady aren’t much better.
Chief Perry orders one of his officers to stay with them—to keep them separated, to call their parents. He flags down a volunteer to bring them water and more blankets.
Thirty minutes later, Night of the Howl has become a crime scene, with flashing lights and yellow tape and privacy screens and reporters.
Jude and I stay. So do Twig and Harper and Naomi.
We watch in silence as EMS wheels a body board toward the bank of the river, passing an officer on her way. He’s holding a clear bag.
Inside?
A pair of bent pixie wings.
A piece of Ivy Winslow’s Halloween costume.
I step inside the carriage house feeling like a rag doll. Dad stands from his recliner, his face pale and strained.
“Hey kiddo,” he says.
All I can do is nod in return.
Behind him, a breaking news banner scrolls across the bottom of our television. Above it, Ivy Winslow’s school picture fills one side of the screen while a subdued Karen Foster talks on the other. “… her remains were found during Night of the Howl, an annual event in Foggy Hollow.”
I take a step closer.
The segment transitions to a reporter on scene, standing in front of police tape while emergency lights flash by the river and the first snowflakes of the season begin to fall.
“The body was discovered at approximately 7:21 p.m. during a community storytelling event in Willowmere Park. Chief Perry has confirmed the remains are those of seventeen-year-old Ivy Winslow. Her family has been notified. Police are asking anyone with information to come forward.”
Back in the newsroom, Karen sits behind her desk. “Ivy was last seen Halloween night at a cemetery party that took a troubling turn. Two girls went missing that evening. Lainey Sikes returned last week. Ivy Winslow remained missing. Until today’s discovery.”
A photo of Ivy’s decorated locker appears, followed by footage of search efforts.
“Over the past two weeks, the community of Foggy Hollow has come together to search for Ivy, to search for answers. Now, it seems, they have at least one. Ivy Winslow has been found, but tragically, not alive. The investigation is ongoing. We will bring you updates as more information becomes available.”
The segment transitions to the weather.
“I can’t imagine,” Dad mutters, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I just can’t imagine.”
I stare at the television as the chief meteorologist of WMTM News 12 talks about light flurries tonight and tomorrow, with no real accumulation.
All the while, I can’t stop picturing it—Ivy violently yanked into the Overlay.
The twisted, terrified look on her face right before she combusted into flame.
It was the same thing that happened to Lainey.
But Lainey isn’t dead.
Dad takes my arm.
I jump, startled by his proximity.
He looks at me, his eyes a storm. I can see each conflicting emotion in the soft brown of his irises. Relief, because it wasn’t me. I’m here. I’m alive. Grief, because someone else’s daughter isn’t. And worry, because a classmate of mine has died and I have yet to make a sound.
Words well inside me—an avalanche of them.
Everyone thinks it’s over. Conclusions are already being drawn.
I heard the whispers at Willowmere Park.
Ivy ran from the party at night in the dark, probably under the influence of alcohol.
She slipped and fell into the river. It was a horrible, tragic accident.
But there was no foul play. In the court of public opinion, the case has been closed.
I look at my dad—my very concerned dad—and I want to tell him everything. Ivy didn’t run from the party and drown in the river anymore than Lainey left town with Rafe. But saying those words, explaining what really happened, would only make him worry more.
My eyes burn.
Tears well.
Dad pulls me into a hug.
I squeeze him back. I tell him I’m okay. He doesn’t have to worry. I’m just sad, and tired. I give him a brave smile and a kiss on the cheek. Then I head upstairs to my room, where the sour cream container mocks me.
I placed it in my window, thinking the sunlight would help.
But nothing has happened.
Because maybe, glowing seeds from a different dimension don’t require sunlight and water.
Maybe, it wants blood and darkness. A shudder ripples up my spine.
I shake the thought away, take the sour cream container in hand, dig my fingers into the soil, and pull up the seed.
The ordinariness of it makes me want to scream.
It looks like a large, regular seed.
I stare down at it, the vision it gave me playing through my mind. Me, chasing my mother through the woods. It won’t stop haunting my dreams. I sink onto the window seat as snow flurries dance in the dark outside.
I didn’t get to speak with Mistress Bramble.
I didn’t get to tell Jude about Rafe’s second appearance or his confusing words.
And now, Ivy is dead.
I return the seed to the soil and set the container on the sill. With a heavy exhale, I pull out my phone and check my email, expecting the same thing I’ve seen all week long.
A big fat nothing.
But this time, my inbox isn’t empty.
This time, there’s a message.
A reply from Megan Carlisle.
I surge to my feet, heart pounding as I read her email.
Dear Selah,
I would like this to stay off the record. Honestly, I’ve done my best to put the whole ordeal behind me and move on with my life. To this day, I don’t understand what happened that night. All I know is that I wasn’t high. Dylan was. But I didn’t take anything.
We trespassed onto the property because we were bored and it was a dare.
We were never going to break into the home.
We just wanted to see what the property looked like on the other side of the gate.
We went into the hedge maze, and that’s when everything changed.
I don’t know how to explain it, other than to say our surroundings got really scary and disorienting.
We got turned around. Then we heard howling. So we ran inside.
The police were there, calling our names. Looking for us. Only somehow, they couldn’t see us. We had no idea what was going on. We lost track of time. Then, suddenly, everything went back to normal. When the police found us, they said we’d been missing for two days.
Like I said, it doesn’t make any sense. I have no idea what happened. Nor can I give you any further insight. This is my full, complete account. Please don’t contact me again.
From,
Megan