Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

Margot

Margot, 8 years old…

Ominous white moonlight glows around the edges of my curtains. A faint thud from downstairs. Why’s fear crackling through my chest?

Momma’s sharp, quick whisper. Daddy’s heavy footsteps. I toss back my purple quilt and sit on the edge of the bed, listening to the sounds below.

Another voice drifts up. I don’t recognize it. It’s muffled.

Chills run over my toes as I tiptoe over the hardwood floors, careful to avoid the creaky spots. I quietly twist the cool metal knob until the lock clicks open. My stomach tightens. I shouldn’t sneak out of my room. Momma’s told me many times not to wander through the house at night. And especially not to go downstairs.

I’m not allowed to visit the dead.

I peer into the hallway, heart jumping with fear and curiosity. Shadows snake along the walls. My feet sink into the carpet as I tiptoe to the wide staircase and peer over the banister. No one’s below. Voices drift up to me—Momma, Daddy, and another man. Familiar but not clear.

Slowly, I creep down each step, careful to press my body close to the wall where the steps won’t make a sound. I’m used to being quiet upstairs. During a service, Momma says I can’t make a sound that might disturb the families below.

A door slams. Metal clangs. Outside an engine hums to life.

Momma’s voice pulls tighter like a balloon about to pop, broken by a soft sob. Daddy’s calm voice soothes. Then silence. I reach the last step and peek around the corner. The hallway leading to the cold room is empty. Light spills over the carpet from an open door.

Burning with curiosity, I hurry toward the open door. Just a quick peek. I can be fast. Momma and Daddy will never catch me.

“How do we keep Margot safe when monsters like him are running around loose?” Momma says.

Fear chills me to a stop. Monsters? Real monsters? Where?

The shadows suddenly seem bigger. Scarier. Can the monsters get into the house?

“Such a nice boy. That poor family,” Daddy says. “Good God, he’s Margot’s age.”

Quiet falls over me. Who? What happened?

Momma’s harsh sobs cut through the stillness. “What are we going to tell her?”

“Margot understands death better than most children,” Daddy says.

Death. It happens to everybody eventually. Nothing to be scared of. Granny tells me that all the time. It still makes me sad every time I think of not seeing her one day.

My family helps other families say goodbye to their loved ones by making them look nice and celebrating their life, Momma explained to me.

I felt good about that until I realized kids don’t like to play at my house. Or play with me . They make fun of me for living with ghosts and zombies. They whisper that my house is haunted. No matter how many times I try to explain that’s not true, they still say it.

Curiosity pulls me closer to the open door. The prep room. I’m not supposed to go in there.

Just a peek. Then I’ll sneak right back upstairs. No one will ever know.

My eyes go to the tall, shiny silver table first. A small body, mostly covered with a white sheet. On the counter next to the door rests a blue duffel bag stuffed so full the zipper won’t close all the way. Small, shiny black shoes sit on top of the bag. The kind of shoes my older brother James would call “dressy” shoes and only wear to church.

“We’ll need to start with a base layer to neutralize the bruising,” my mother says. “He’s so young.” She lets out a harsh sob. “I’ll go soft with the foundation. Those purple tones will be stubborn on his delicate skin,” she finishes on a whisper.

Daddy rounds the table and gently touches Momma’s elbow. “Darling, let’s take a break.”

She’s shaking her head before he finishes speaking. “No. He must have been so afraid. In pain. Terrified. Alone with that monster. I want to stay with him until…”

I slide my gaze back to the table. To the sheet tucked under a pale chin. Freckled cheeks. A wild mop of messy brown hair.

Recognition flips my tummy upside down. I gasp loud enough to draw my mother’s attention.

“Margot!” Her eyes widen and she hurries toward me, blocking my view.

“Is that…is that…Hoyt Harris?” The boy who lives down the street. We play together in his backyard and walk to the bus stop together. His mom is nice and makes us oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips instead of nasty raisins. Hoyt never makes fun of me and isn’t scared of my house. He even lets me play with his Hot Wheels and doesn’t think it’s weird that a girl likes cars.

“What are you doing down here?” my father asks, his voice low and calm.

“I heard noises.” I tilt to the side, trying to peer around my mother, but she rests her hands on my shoulders, stopping me. “Who is that, Momma? What happened?”

“You should go back to bed, Margot.”

Curiosity, too painful to ignore, pushes me out of my mother’s grasp and I hurry toward the table.

Hoyt . But he doesn’t look like the same boy I play hide and seek with. The boy who can never contain his laughter while he’s supposed to be hiding.

But he’s not laughing now.

Or even breathing.

He’s still . So still he looks like a life-sized doll.

My nose tickles and my eyes burn. “Why? What happened?”

“You know how we always tell you not to go anywhere with strangers?” Daddy says.

“James!” Momma scolds. “Not now.”

“No, she needs to know this.” Daddy squats in front of me so we’re eye-level and grasps the tops of my arms. “It’s not just strangers. Even people you think are friendly can be dangerous. Never, ever go into anyone’s house without letting one of us know. Not for a minute. Understand?”

Numbly, I nod, but inside I’m a tangle of confusion and fear.

“Never get into anyone’s car, either,” he adds. “For any reason.”

I glance up at my mother. “I know. You told me.”

She clasps her hands together and stares at me. “We just love you and want you to be safe.”

I peer around Daddy to stare up at the table. “Is that what happened to him?” My small voice shakes. “He went into someone’s house without tellin’ his momma?”

Daddy clears his throat and pulls me away from the table, closer to Momma. “Something like that.”

“But why?” I choke on a sob.

Momma rests her hand on the top of my head, brushing my hair off of my forehead. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and it’s hard to understand. Hoyt was hurt by someone, and now he’s no longer with us. We’ll take special care of him.”

“Who hurt him?” My voice comes out small and squeaky. “Why? He was so nice.”

Momma and Daddy share a look.

“You know Mr. Gade?” Momma says.

My eyebrows pinch together. Mr. Gade lives a bunch of houses down the road. He’s weird but always hands us candy when we go by his yard.

“Don’t,” Daddy says, touching Momma’s arm. To me, he says, “The police have him. He won’t hurt anyone else.”

Tears burn my eyes. “What about Hoyt’s momma and daddy?”

Another sob escapes Momma. She closes her eyes briefly.

“We’ll do everything we can for them,” Daddy says.

“Can I say goodbye to Hoyt?” I stare up at the table.

“Yes. At the service,” Momma promises. “Now, come on. Back to bed.”

She settles one hand between my shoulders and presses, turning me toward the door. My throat tightens and my stomach churns. My heart pounds so loud it drowns out the sounds of my feet shuffling against the cold tile.

Momma doesn’t take her hand off me, guiding my steps as if she’s afraid I’ll return to Hoyt’s side. But the heavy feeling in my chest won’t allow me to move anywhere but forward.

Upstairs, Momma tucks me under my purple quilt with the rainbows and unicorns, tucking it under my chin and smoothing it out around me. The unicorns are such a bright white, I can practically see them glowing in the semi-darkness. She leans over and kisses my forehead. “Go back to sleep,” she murmurs. “I love you more than anything.”

“Love you too, Momma.” I curl my fingers in my quilt and pull it higher, then turn on my side.

My door quietly clicks closed behind her. Hoyt’s pale face and still form won’t leave my mind. My eyes pop open but staring into the darkness is even worse.