Page 1

OCTOBER 15TH, 1969 WEST VIRGINIA

15 YEARS 351 DAYS OLD

“That’ll be a dollar fifty, Red,” Peter Jones, the old man who runs the diesel station, says over the counter between us.

“A dollar fifty?” I nearly shout. “I don’t have it!”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have pumped it, young lady.” He shrugs, not bothered by my problems. A mess of gray hair sits on top of his head, and not an ounce of pity shows on his wrinkly face even though he knows it’s just Granny and me up on top of the mountain.

“I’ll have to owe you.”

I stick my hands into my pockets, pull out my quarters, and hand him all five plus a dime I had earmarked for a candy bar. He rolls them around in his palm, looking at them too careful like he thinks they’re fake or something.

“This isn’t enough money, Redley. This isn’t a charity.” His thumb slides over one quarter in particular.

“A full tank was one twenty-five last week,” I complain, wondering if he isn’t just picking on me ’cause I’m a dumb girl. I’ll be sixteen in a little over a week, so I’m not that young, and I manage to take care of my granny all on my own without a man in our house. “How’s the same thing so much more now?”

I could do the math if he posted the price, but I don’t see anything but how many gallons when I’m pumping.

“There’s an oil crisis, Redley, because of that big spill out in Santa Barbara. Things are only going to go up.”

I think that’s in California, so I don’t know what that has to do with us. And why is it going to get worse?

“How do you know all this?” I ask. “We don't even get the news in Grimm Groves.”

He sighs and taps the counter.

“Sometimes you need to look further than your nose, but the Little family has never been good about that, have they?”

“Hey! I take offense to that,” I say, my blood boiling just like it always does anytime someone brings up my family. The job falls on me since most of them aren’t here to defend themselves, and whether that’s true or not, it’s bad manners to insult the dead.

“You were meant to.” He gives me a nasty look. “Pay me back quick before I involve your granny and you get a whooping.”

He seems a little too excited for that, and a shiver races down my spine as he stands up off his stool, but he just turns around and walks back into the office, not bothering with a goodbye as the door slams shut behind him.

“Thanks for the loan,” I say as I head out the door and back to my truck, Penny.

My boots have seen better days, and the soles clap as I climb inside. Pop’s old pipe tobacco never faded from the leather despite all the years, and no matter how much trouble Penny gives me, driving her feels good. She complains as I turn the key over, and I have to try a few times before the engine starts. Once she’s running, I put her in gear and hit the road. A strange vibration shimmies the cab, and I say a little curse I wouldn’t dare repeat in front of Granny.

The engine sputters, and I slap the dash. It won’t fix anything, but it also doesn’t fix anything when Granny hits me, yet she keeps doing it. She can't drive anymore, so even though I don’t have my license, I do all our running around. Good thing there’s never been a cop in Grimm Groves.

Pop was the town mechanic before he died five years ago at the hands of a local legend and monster—the Wolf. Sadly, that was before I learned all the ins and outs of fixing Penny, but he was teaching me, and I know a thing or two. I’ve managed to keep her running, but I’m reaching the end of what I can do.

Those happier memories were during a time of peace when that demon stopped killing. Pop was the first person the Wolf killed in nearly twenty years. It’d been so long that people stopped believing, calling it a tall tale, but the rest of my family were killed shortly after. A lot of people have died in the five years since, and nobody has a good explanation for that either.

My mountain climbs into the sky to my left, another mountain sits to the right, and the town center waits down the graveled road ahead of me. As I enter the outskirts, my eyes stick to the schoolhouse. There have never been more than twenty kids at a time, and that was a big year. Grimm Groves is nothing more than a fire station, a schoolhouse, and Dr. Jones, who people suspect is neither a real doctor nor a Jones. An outpost where people sell the things they’ve grown themselves, built, or driven hours for comes next.

My tires crunch over the gravel as I roll into the parking lot for the post office. The mail doesn’t come regular in Grimm Groves like it does in other places. Granny has been saying every day this week will be mail day. She doesn’t like being wrong or waiting, and each day I’ve had to come home empty-handed has only made her angrier. She hasn’t beaten me for it yet, but she’s not known for her patience.

I sigh in relief at the people lining up outside the door, stretching all the way down to Doc’s medical office. The truck came. The crowd is normal. Mail day doesn’t come around here often, so it’s a production when it does, but something more is going on because there are too many pinched faces.

The full mood of the people doesn’t reach me until I step out of the truck. Whispers and hushed voices all around. Bobby Crane stands up at the front of the line, blond hair and blue eyes shining in the bright afternoon sun as he talks to his daddy. He’s one of the wealthier kids who live at the bottom of the mountain, and he looks it, always wearing nice new clothes. They’ve got a big house with all the modern amenities you can find this far out.

His daddy owns a business in the city and spends a week every month out there. People say he has another family, but Bobby wouldn’t have any way of knowing, so he just plays dumb. He’s an okay-looking guy and has helped me with the truck a couple of times, not that we made much progress.

We kissed out in his garage once with the thick summer air all around us, but I won’t repeat that if I can avoid it. He’s not much of a kisser or a mechanic. All he has is a Chevy manual, his dad’s tools, and a pointy tongue. I shouldn’t judge him, though, ’cause it’s more than I have, and he’s helped me far more than anyone else has.

I walk to the end of the line, not particularly trying to get his attention, but as soon as he sees me, he steps away to come and talk.

“Hey, Red. How’s the truck?” he asks as he takes the place behind me in line. His eyes shift to the people around us, checking if anyone is listening to our conversation.

“Not too good, Bobby. What did your dad say about getting me the parts when he’s out of town next? Granny is getting real angry that I haven’t fixed her yet.”

Penny is going to be a garden statue soon. That will surely have Granny in an uproar. I’ve still got bruises on my backside from my last whooping, and I’m not too excited for another one. My birthday is coming, and even though I won’t have a party or anything, I want to be able to sit for it.

His gaze flickers nervously to his father at the front of the line. He knows how rough she is on me, so he wants to help, but he’s never been brave. He rubs the back of his collar, and I know I won’t like whatever he has to say.

“I didn’t actually get a chance to ask him yet.”

“Why the hell not, Bobby?” I try to whisper, but my third cousin, who insists I call her Mrs. Clyde, shoots me a dirty look that makes me real grateful that Granny doesn’t come to town often.

He shifts nervously, hands sliding into his pockets. “He’s been in a mood lately. Some things are happening over at work, I guess.”

What, is his other wife mad at him? I only just manage not to ask.

This is serious to me. Granny is going to kick my ass if I can’t fix the truck, and his dad’s going to be gone soon. He’s supposed to be leaving tomorrow morning.

“Can you please ask him now? Before he goes?” I try to sound nice. I don’t dare flirt because I don’t want to lead him on, but it was a much more effective bargaining tool.

“With everything happening, today isn’t a good day.” He shrugs, taking a step back and getting ready to make his escape.

My hand shoots out and grabs his arm, stopping him from leaving before I get the story. I regret the action immediately when he smiles at me a little too friendly.

“What’s happening?” I ask, dropping my hand.

He leans in to me and presses his lips against my ear, making me shiver in discomfort. “They found Heather Murphy dead.”