Page 4

Up in the living room, the rest of Thomas’s family was stationed around the fireplace, oddly silent. An orange glow was set against their faces—shadows casting long, jittery fingers in every direction, weblike. Paige sat on the edge of a wooden chair, arms in her lap, eyes closed. For a moment, it almost looked as though she was meditating and, judging by her frown, not enjoying it. The two boys sat at her feet, legs crossed. They tossed flecks of wood into the fire, each one combusting with a hollow crack.

Thomas cleared his throat. “It’s a waiting game now.”

Paige blinked at him, unimpressed. “You’re giving up already?”

“We found her tucked in a nook,” he said. “I give it ten, maybe twenty minutes before she caves.”

“A nook?” She wrinkled her brow as if she hadn’t heard him right.

Thomas nodded. “It’s safe but… out of reach.”

Paige’s jaw tensed. “So, we’re just going to let her hide down there, all by herself, in the pitch black?”

He shrugged. “She’s got her flashlight pen.”

Not the answer Paige wanted.

Thomas paused, choosing his next words carefully. “You know how this works. The more we chase her, the longer she hides.”

Paige let out a weary sigh. “She could get hurt, Thomas. If this was happening at our place, that would be one thing, but at a stranger’s house?”

Thomas shook his head. “I know, I know—”

Eve withdrew from the room, not wanting to stick around for the fireworks but… despite herself, she listened in, safely out of sight with her back to the wall. Morbid curiosity. She could see them reflected in a nearby window.

Paige rose to her feet, paced away from her sons. “Jenny hasn’t done this in years.”

Thomas trailed after her, speaking in hushed tones. “She’s a smart kid,” he said. “She can take care of herself.”

That did nothing to comfort Paige. “It’s the move,” she said. “Ever since we left home, it’s like she’s not the same kid anymore.”

Thomas stepped closer, reached out, and put a hand on her shoulder. A gesture that was likely meant to be consoling but came off as patronizing. “Paige,” he said, “I’d be more worried if she wasn’t acting different. Once we’re all settled down, things will go back to normal.”

Shrugging off his hand, Paige faced a window. She stared into the cold night, the blasts of wind kicking up flurries of snow into swirling blurs. “Minnesota.” The word flicked off her tongue like she considered it an obscenity. “You know winters there get to forty below, right?”

Thomas mumbled an answer that Eve couldn’t quite make out. Whatever he said, it actually made Paige smile, but from where Eve was, she couldn’t tell if it was a happy smile or a bitter one. Paige huffed, crossed her arms. That settled it—a bitter one. She glanced toward her boys as if to make sure they weren’t listening in. They were debating who was faster, Superman or the Flash.

Paige turned back, lowered her voice. “My brother told me a story from his EMT days out there. Some old woman, her station wagon broke down on the interstate during a blizzard. When Jay and his team finally arrived, her hands were frozen to the steering wheel. Thirty minutes, Thomas. That’s all it took for the cold to kill her.” Paige breathed out her nose. “Some say it’s a pleasant way to go, freezing to death, but Jay said the look on this woman’s face suggested otherwise. They had to pry her hands off the wheel—just to get her body out.” She paused, letting the image sink in. “That’s what happens in Minnesota,” she added. “Old women freeze to death in their station wagons.”

Thomas considered this for a moment, then said, “I’m not happy about the move either. But we don’t have much of a choice, and besides—”

“If you say ‘Change is opportunity in disguise,’ I’m going to scream.”

Thomas hesitated, mouth half-open. “That’s not what I—”

In the window’s reflection, Thomas’s eyes suddenly flicked to Eve, catching her listening in. Mortified, she slipped away, retreated into the foyer, and slumped down on the steps. Back in the living room, out of view, Paige and Thomas continued their quarrel. Eve fought the urge to listen in again.

Instead, she sat there, chin resting on her hands—all of the evening’s strange occurrences rattling around in her head, like pebbles in a tin can. Sure, no single thing was big enough to warrant extreme concern, but everything together—everything adding up, and—

Where was Charlie?

Eve checked the foyer clock. She was almost an hour late now—

Truck broke down, the Hillbilly Chimp chimed in, nonchalant. Eve could almost see him, sitting on a rickety fence, tuning a broken banjo. Her hands are probably frozen to the steering wheel by now.

Eve tried to push the thought away, but—she looked out the window; the snow was falling faster now. Those mountain roads weren’t exactly safe at the best of times, and—had Charlie put on the winter tires yet? What if—

You’re never going to see her again.

She pulled out her phone and… the screen was cracked. A jagged line that started in the bottom right corner and veered up to the left. When had that happened? The crack distorted Eve’s lock screen image—a portrait of Charlie and Shylo, the dog licking a smiling Charlie’s chin. She tapped into the home screen. One missed call, one voicemail. Both from Charlie, both recent. She was about to listen when…

Right on cue, the front door swung open and Charlie stepped inside, a pack of beer in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. “I’m late,” she said, shaking off snow. “Roads are shit. Getting shittier.”

Relief, warm and soothing, washed over Eve like a tidal wave. In one quick motion, she shot to her feet, surged across the foyer, and wrapped her arms around Charlie so tightly it made her wheeze. “Uhh.” Charlie hesitated, more than a little confused by the sudden outpouring of affection. After all, it was the kind of embrace normally reserved for an airport arrival gate. Charlie set down the booze and hugged her back. “Nice to see you too…?”

Eve held on a few moments longer, then let go.

“Everything okay?” Charlie pulled open the coat closet, tilting her head at the unfamiliar jackets. Eve started to explain, when Thomas stepped around the corner. Charlie blinked at him, even more confused than before.

“This is Thomas,” Eve said. “He grew up here, was just showing his family around, and—”

“And now our daughter is playing spontaneous hide-and-seek in the basement,” he sighed, holding out a hand to Charlie. They shook.

“Name’s Charlie,” she said. “Charlie Bastion.” She hung up her coat. “Spontaneous hide-and-seek, huh? My younger brother used to do that all the time. You sure she’s safe down there?”

“She’s found a little nook out of reach,” Thomas said, embarrassed. “She’ll give up any minute now. Then we’ll be out of your hair. Really sorry about all this.”

“Right…” said Charlie. Her eyes flicked to Eve, then back to him. “That your moving truck down on the street?”

He nodded. “Didn’t block your way up, did it?”

“No.”

So it’s confirmed, thought Eve. The family didn’t walk out of the forest, hand in hand.

“Anyway,” Thomas said, “we’ve long overstayed our welcome.” He gestured to Eve. “Your partner has the patience of a saint, and I know you didn’t even want us here in the first place, completely understandable—”

“I didn’t want you here?” Charlie interrupted.

They both looked at Eve. Blood rushed into her face. “Yeah, on the phone earlier,” Eve lied. “I called you to check if they could look around?”

Charlie finally realized what was going on. Eve had used the Let Me Check with Charlie Card. “Ahh, yup.” She forced a smile. Charlie didn’t like lying, especially when it came to something as mundane as avoiding social discomfort. Just be direct, she’d always say. Don’t like someone? Tell them to fuck off. Easier said than done, Eve had often thought but never voiced.

Charlie gave Eve a silent You okay? stare. Eve replied with a tepid nod. Sure…

Charlie shut the closet, looked at Thomas. “So, is it like you remember?”

“The house?”

Charlie nodded.

Thomas shrugged. “Been a lot of changes—things added, things taken away. But it’s still the same as it always was, more or less. Honestly, if you ask me, most of the additions are a big improvement.” He paused for a moment, glancing up to where his father’s chandelier used to hang. He looked back at Charlie. “Eve mentioned you guys were planning to fix the place up?”

“Maybe.” Charlie looked around the foyer as if appraising it for the first time. “That or tear it down, start from scratch, we haven’t decided yet—believe it or not.”

Eve almost flinched at this. It was classic Charlie, nonchalantly telling a man you might tear down his childhood home.

Eve side-eyed Thomas, searching for his reaction, but he seemed unfazed. He just stood there, hands on his hips, smiling that movie-star smile. “Well, if you knock it down,” he said, “please send me a video. My inner child would love to see it.”

Charlie actually chuckled at that. Seriously? thought Eve. Is she already warming to him? Although maybe it wasn’t that shocking. After all, Charlie hadn’t seen the weird shit Eve had seen. That, and Charlie often assumed the best in people. She was hospitable and trusting, but not out of obligation or naivety—rather, she gave people the benefit of the doubt, and if anyone was dumb enough to break her trust, watch out. In this, and many other regards, she was Eve’s polar opposite.

“Anyway,” said Thomas, “don’t let us spoil your dinner. We’ll stay out of your way until Jenny surrenders.”

“I mean.” Charlie looked to Eve, then back to Thomas. “You might as well join us.”

Eve’s jaw tensed.

Thomas hesitated. “You sure? I think we’ll be okay; we had a big lunch.”

Charlie shrugged. “It’s your call, but we have more than enough leftovers.”

Thomas glanced at Eve, as if checking for her approval. “Only if it’s not a problem,” he said.

Charlie, not noticing his glance, answered, “Wouldn’t be offering if it was.”

Thomas started to reply, but Eve wasn’t listening anymore. Her eyes were locked to an irrelevant fleck of snow stuck in Charlie’s jet-black, pixie-cut hair. The fleck was melting, edges turning to mush as it trailed down the back of Charlie’s ear. Eve suddenly wanted to grab her by the arm, yank her aside, and tell her to kick this family out right now, kid in the basement or no. How could her partner not sense how uncomfortable she was? Sure, Charlie wasn’t always the best at picking up on emotions, but Eve clearly wasn’t thrilled about having this family here and—

“Would you mind if we had a moment?” Eve interjected.

They both turned to her, mid-conversation, smiling. “Hm?” Thomas asked.

“Just, just need a moment alone with my partner,” Eve repeated.

“Oh, of course.” Thomas withdrew into the living room.

Charlie waited until he was out of earshot. “Jeepers.” She smirked. “I leave for one hour and the whole Brady Bunch moves in?”

Eve didn’t laugh. She stared down at the floor, chewing on her lip, searching for words.

“Hey,” said Charlie, “what’s up?”

Eve huffed. Part of her wanted to blather out everything that had happened: the ant trail, the strange basement encounter with Thomas. Yet the more she dwelled on those things, the more insignificant they seemed. And deeper than that, she was simply afraid to say her thoughts aloud, as if doing so might make them tangible, almost physical creatures. Little goblins that would scream and cry and embarrass her like unruly brats at a Denny’s. So instead, she kept them locked up in the same room as Mo. Mo and his army of thought goblins. That absurd image summed up her entire mental landscape: repressed, chaotic shame. Regardless, she was probably just blowing things out of proportion, looking for reasons to panic like she always did, but—

“Eve?” Charlie said. “You can talk to me…”

Eve, in hushed tones, decided to let loose the most reasonable of the thought goblins. “I just—doesn’t it seem odd they’re not more concerned about their daughter?”

Charlie nodded. “He said she’s hiding out of reach, right?”

“Yeah…”

“If she’s anything like my little brother was, they’ll have to just wait it out, seriously. My parents tried everything with that guy, even offered him candy. No dice. God, it was fucking annoying—”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it.” Eve rubbed her arms as if a cold chill had swept through the room. “Most parents I know lose their mind if a kid goes missing for more than a minute. I mean—”

“Look.” Charlie set a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “If she’s not out by the end of dinner, I’ll raise hell. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Charlie frowned, studying Eve’s face. “Did something else happen while I was gone?”

A flashback jolted through Eve’s head, a chemical imprint so vivid she could almost see it: Thomas, with pin-straight posture, looming in that basement hallway. Back turned. Arms limp. Flashlight pointed straight at the ground. The way he didn’t respond to his name.

“Eve?” Charlie prodded. “Do you want me to boot them out right now? Just say the word and—”

Eve swatted away the offer. “You being late made me worry, that’s all. Mountain roads. The weather.”

“I’m here, okay?” Charlie tucked a strand of hair behind Eve’s ear, took her by the hands, and kissed her gently on the forehead. Nothing calmed Eve like that did.

Outside, the wind picked up, making the house shift and creak like some old machine, stirred awake from ancient slumber. No storm was in the forecast, but if this kept up… Eve worried the roads might close, trapping these strangers here even longer.

“One way in. One way out,” Mr. Dayton, the Realtor, had said as they first crossed the Kettle Creek Bridge four months earlier. “Roads used to close at least once a winter on account of the weather,” he’d added in his Southern drawl. “Been a couple decades since that happened, though.”

Mo yawned. Sounds like it’s overdue.

While the weather raged outside, Paige helped Eve and Charlie prep dinner. Not that there was much to prep. Leftover chicken, instant mashed potatoes, microwaved veggies. Moving into a new home kind of food.

Meanwhile, Thomas was back down in the basement, trying to coax their daughter out. Paige had told him to say that they were all having a big fancy meal without her, and if she came up in the next fifteen minutes, they might have enough left to share. Thomas didn’t have faith in this plan. Again, he insisted that giving Jenny space was the only way to go: “She’ll hear us eating without her, and that’ll be enough.” But Paige persisted, and Paige won. Eve suspected she often did.

Eve still didn’t know what to make of her. Of the two parents, it was clear Paige was the stricter—a role she seemed to both embrace and resent. And judging by her silver cross necklace, she was more devout too. But there were contradictions in Paige’s actions, her body language. She had a timid, almost docile demeanor that would slip away when she had to break up a fight between the kids or make a sly comment toward her husband. Eve sensed a great deal of suppressed anger simmering beneath Paige’s surface. A tick-tick-ticking time bomb.

Newton shuffled into the kitchen, pushing up his round glasses with a thumb. “Mom,” he said, “I think I have an idea to prevent this in the future.”

“Prevent what?” Paige glanced at her son and went back to cutting up vegetables.

“Jenny sneaking away,” Newton clarified.

“Interesting.” Paige said this with a sense of finality as if to signal the conversation was already over.

But Newton didn’t pick up on the cue. “Maybe we could get her a harness?” he said.

Eve looked at Charlie. Was he trying to make a joke? He wasn’t. This was a sincere pitch.

Newton went on. “Like, one of those child harnesses for kids that run away.” He scratched his temple. “I think you can buy them online, I dunno. Just an idea.”

“Thanks, Newton,” said Paige. “We’ll, uh, look into it.”

Kai strode up behind his brother and rolled his eyes. “Like a dog harness?”

“No.” Newton frowned. “Not like—”

Kai cut him off. “Probably not the best idea, Newt.” It looked like Kai wanted to say something more, something meaner, but he glanced at his mother and remained quiet. Newton slouched into the living room, his brother following.

Minutes later, the food was ready, the table was set, yet Thomas was still in the basement. Apart from him and Jenny, everyone was seated around the table. Silent. Deep down, Eve was beginning to worry that, one by one, this family might start vanishing into the cellar. This time, she couldn’t even blame Mo for the intrusive thought.

Uncomfortable tension hung over the table. Eve could almost hear it, a low, buzzing thrum. The inevitable feeling of precarity that came with having complete strangers sitting around your home. It was an oddly intimate thing, sharing a meal with people she barely knew, and it was especially odd considering this family was one kid and one parent short. All she could do was hope the conversation would remain neutral. Hope that Charlie wouldn’t stir the pot for fun. She remembered her father’s three golden rules for a conflict-free meal: No politics. No more than two drinks. And no politics.

“So,” Charlie broke the silence. “When did you live here?” Reaching across the table, she grabbed a corkscrew.

“Oh, I didn’t.” Paige shook her head. “This was Thomas’s childhood home.” She tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

“Right.” Charlie twisted the corkscrew into a bottle of red.

“If I’m being honest,” said Paige, “I didn’t even want to visit.” There was more than a hint of shade in the comment. This was all my husband’s dumb idea, don’t blame me for it. She put her hands in her lap, stared down at her food, and didn’t touch it. Her boys did the same.

Eve, realizing they were waiting for Thomas, followed their lead. A childhood reflex back from the grave. But Charlie, oblivious, uncaring, or both, started to chow down. “Pretty far off the highway,” she said.

“It certainly is,” Paige said.

Charlie took a sip of wine. “Where you headed?”

“East.”

East?Charlie and Eve shared another brief look. It sounded like an answer an old cowboy might give, gazing out over a sun-dappled horizon.

“Where from?” Charlie inquired.

“… Portland.”

Right then, Eve noticed the faint remnant of a penny-sized tattoo on Paige’s neck, just below her left ear. It was a simple black circle, a thin line, but it was blurred, mostly faded. Laser removed, she assumed. Some distant, unthinking part of her mind connected it to the cryptic symbol on the banister. But logic prevailed again, stifling the notion. Circles, after all, weren’t exactly a rare shape. Paige glanced up, catching her stare. Eve averted her gaze, pretended she was looking at something else, but—

“I got it in college,” said Paige. “Before I met Thomas.” She was looking at Eve, but it sounded more like she was talking to her boys, justifying her past.

Charlie tilted her head, not following.

“The tattoo,” Paige clarified, pointing at her neck.

Charlie squinted, struggling to make out the faded image. “A circle,” she said. “Laser removal?”

Paige nodded.

“Painful?”

Paige nodded again.

Charlie held up her left hand. Turned it to show, on her index knuckle, an inverted black triangle tattoo. “My seventeen-year-old self thought this was a great idea.”

Paige smiled tersely, not thrilled to have something in common with Charlie.

Kai, poking at his food, asked, “Why’d you get it?”

Charlie shrugged. “Just wanted a tattoo.”

Newton squinted through his round glasses and asked, “Do you regret it?”

Charlie considered the question. “Regret’s a part of life,” she said.

Kai snorted. “Yeah, I’d regret a choice like that too.”

Before Charlie could respond, Paige cut in, “Kai, if you don’t have anything nice to say—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He waved a dismissive hand.

Paige bristled. “Watch your attitude.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Don’t apologize to me.” Paige gestured at Charlie.

He faced her. “I’m sorry if your feelings got hurt.”

Charlie glanced at Eve, a vaguely amused “this little shit” smirk on her face. She turned back to Kai. “I’ll recover.”

Eve, desperate to avoid any more escalation, changed the subject. “So, uh, how did you and Thomas meet?”

Paige opened her mouth to answer when—

Thomas entered the room. Eve was almost startled by his sudden appearance. He stepped up to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down next to his wife. She looked at him, awaiting the verdict on Jenny.

He shrugged. No luck. I told you so.

Paige shut her eyes, held something back.

“Stubborn kid, huh?” Charlie took another sip of wine.

“Didn’t get it from me,” he joked.

Paige actually sort of smiled at that, but Thomas picked up his fork, plunged it into a piece of chicken, and—

“Thomas.” Her smile evaporated.

“Oh, right.” He looked at Eve. “Is it okay if we say a quick prayer before dinner?”

“Uh, I,” Eve floundered.

“It’s your house,” he added. “Wouldn’t want to impose.”

Charlie seemed about to step in when—

“That’s okay,” Eve relented. Raised in a religious household, she never really had a problem with prayer. However, it had been nearly a decade since she’d said grace before a meal. A whole decade? Despite all the years gone by, the remnants of religion had clung to her like a strange aftertaste. Technically, Eve had stopped believing at seventeen years old, but her faith limped on well into her twenties, like staying in an obviously doomed marriage because, hey, maybe things will turn around eventually.

Now, in her early thirties, faith was demoted to passing conversations and bad dreams. All these years later, and she was still having nightmares about Judgment Day. Go figure.

One in particular always came up. She’d find herself standing in line at the gates of heaven. It always looked different—sometimes, just like the paintings, majestic clouds, pearly gates. Other times a hole-in-the-wall pub, downtown streets, neon lights. Either way, Jesus was there, minding the entrance. Usually rocking a tie-dyed T-shirt and cargo pants. When it was Eve’s turn to be let in, he’d look at her, confused. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Eve, Eve Palmer…” she would say.

He’d glance at a list, reply, “Hm, nobody here by that name,” then look back up. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?” Before she could answer, the ground would always open up, and she would plummet into the depths of hell, her body shredding into endless bloody ribbons until she jolted awake in a cold sweat. No residual trauma here.

Thomas clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. His whole family followed suit. He cleared his throat, let a moment of thoughtful silence pass, and then, “Good food. Good meat. Good God, let’s eat.” The boys chuckled. Thomas opened his eyes, grabbed his fork, and—

“Thomas,” Paige hissed.

“Right,” he said. “Amen.” He cracked another smile that was not returned. Instead, Paige clasped her hands together and, without saying a word, ordered the two boys to do the same. They obeyed. But Thomas hesitated, his hand still wrapped around his fork, which was stuck in a wedge of chicken. After a tense moment, he relented. Now they all bowed their heads again, eyes closed, hands clasped.

“Heavenly Father,” Paige began. “Thank you for watching over us as we travel across your country. Thank you for providing all our needs and leading us into a new life. Thank you to our gracious hosts, who have welcomed us into their home. Thank you for…”

… As she went on, Eve looked around. The two boys’ heads were dutifully bowed, eyes shut, but Thomas, his eyes were open. Open and staring blankly at the meal before him. Between this, the curse words, and the mocking prayer, Eve suspected he might not be religious at all.

Part of her felt sorry for him. She wondered if he’d always been faithless or if he was an ex-Christian. For Eve, losing her faith way back in high school was hard enough. A world-shattering rug pull. She couldn’t imagine how hard it would have been to lose it even older. Especially being married to someone like Paige.

“Forever and ever. Amen.” Paige opened her eyes, unclasped her hands, and surveyed her surroundings as if waking from a peaceful dream.

“Amen,” said the boys.

“Amen,” Eve mumbled, another childhood reflex revived. Charlie shot her a sly look, then turned to Thomas. “You want a drink?” She held up the bottle.

His eyes went to Paige, then back to the wine. He shook his head. “We, uh, we don’t drink.”

“Wise choice,” said Charlie, setting the bottle down.

Paige, in silent agreement, took a sip of water, the ice cubes clinking in her glass. She lifted her fork and began to eat, taking dry, puckering bites as if testing the food for poison.

Everyone ate in silence for a few moments, until Charlie said, “So you guys are moving?”

“Mm-hm,” said Thomas, mouth full of food. “Minnesota.”

“That’s a long way,” said Charlie.

Thomas nodded. “I was offered a professorship in Duluth.”

“Oh?” Charlie said. “I have some family out there. What school?”

“Denman,” Thomas said.

“Huh, not familiar.” Charlie took another bite. “I’m sure it’s a great university, though.”

“It’s a community college,” Paige interjected, a hint of resentment in her voice. “Not a university.”

Thomas clicked his tongue and went back to eating.

“What’re you teaching?” asked Charlie.

“Photography, composition and darkroom development.”

Charlie’s eyes brightened a little. “What do you shoot on?”

“Nikon F2. You into photography?”

“I used to dabble.”

“Used to?”

Charlie gave a little shrug. “Don’t have the time anymore.”

“Well, when you did, was it film or digital?”

“Film, always. Digital doesn’t hit the same.”

Thomas nodded in agreement. “There’s just something about knowing it was shot on film,” he said. “Wish more people felt that way. I used to run a photo lab back home. Digital pretty much wiped us out and…” He trailed off, regret forming in the creases of his face. “Anyway.” He tapped his knuckles twice against the table. “Onward, upward.” Clearing his throat, he changed the topic. “How do you two like it up here in the boonies?”

Charlie weighed the question. “The quiet is nice, but… takes some getting used to.”

Thomas nodded again. “It’s one of the few things I miss about this place. Meet any of the neighbors yet?”

Charlie shook her head. “Not yet—”

Right then Charlie’s phone pinged, a techno jingle of Beethoven’s Fifth. She pulled it out and frowned. “You guys got winter tires?”

“Hm?”

She held up the screen; on it was a warning:

ALERT: STORM FORECASTED FOR TONIGHT

WINTER TIRES RECOMMENDED

“We’ll be fine,” Thomas said.

Charlie tucked her phone away. “There’s some tire chains up in the attic.”

“We’ll be fine,” he insisted. “I lived in Maine for five years.”

More silence trudged by until, out of nowhere, Paige turned to Eve and said, “Are you married?”

“What, us?”

Paige nodded.

Charlie almost scoffed. “Nope.”

Paige nodded again, as if to say, I expected as much. “Are you religious?” she asked, still looking at Eve.

“Me?” Eve said. “No, not really. I mean, I used to be.”

Paige settled back in her chair. “I only ask because I noticed a Bible in the living room.”

“Oh… that was a gift from my parents.”

It was a leather-bound burgundy King James Bible. Eve’s full legal name was inscribed on the spine in gold lettering:

Evelyn Patricia Palmer

She barely remembered unpacking it, let alone placing it in the living room. But she was going to eventually; after all, her parents were coming to visit in a couple of months. They’d long accepted their only child was no longer religious, but hey, at least she kept a Bible around in case of emergencies.

Now, Paige interrogated her much the same way her parents used to: “Do you still go to church?”

Eve looked at Charlie, tempted to seek her help. Normally, Charlie would have jumped in by now, but a few weeks ago, Eve insisted she could fend for herself. She didn’t always need a heroine to swoop in and save the day. Charlie held back.

Eve shifted her weight. “No, not anymore.”

Paige blinked, disapproving.

“Well,” Eve backtracked, “sometimes on Christmas.”

Charlie side-eyed her. Are you seeking approval?

Smiling tightly, Paige jabbed a fork into a piece of chicken and began cutting at it with a steak knife. “What about them?”

“… Who?”

“Your parents. Do they still go to church?”

“They do.”

“What denomination?”

“Uh, Protestant…?”

Paige’s eyes flickered to Charlie, then back to Eve. “And they’re aware?”

Eve cleared her throat. “Of what?”

Paige glanced at her sons as if the following words might be too much for their innocent ears. “Aware of you and your partner’s”—Paige’s mind shuffled, almost audibly, through a wheel of phrases until it landed on—“lifestyle choices.”

Eve let out a short laugh that echoed around the room, nervous, brittle. Again, Charlie seemed just about ready to jump in, but still, she held back. Paige remained silent, waiting for an answer. Kai, the “smug bastard,” looked rather entertained by it all. Newton just stared straight ahead, silent, disassociating. And Thomas? He looked more uncomfortable than the rest of the room combined, his mouth open, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Eve turned back to Paige. “My parents know…”

“And they accept it?”

Eve was about to respond but—

Charlie, chewing on a mouthful of mashed potatoes, interrupted. “What about yours?” she asked, staring straight at Paige.

Paige looked at her. “Excuse me?”

“Your parents,” Charlie said. “They know about your lifestyle choices?”

Paige furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

Charlie remained silent, reveling in the awkwardness. Unlike Eve, she actually enjoyed this kind of conflict, sometimes even sought it out. Right now, Charlie had her kid gloves on. If Paige kept pressing, things would get ugly.

“Look,” Paige relented. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood, but it’s not exactly—”

“Paige.” Thomas finally intervened. “That’s enough.”

She looked at him, then stared at Charlie.

Dead silence.

Charlie held her gaze, didn’t break eye contact, didn’t say a word. There was a spark of fire in Charlie’s eyes, a spark that made Eve a little scared. A look that dared Paige to keep on talking. Seconds dragged by like minutes until, at last, Paige looked away and returned to eating, acting like nothing had happened.

Sweet relief washed over Eve. Charlie settled back into her chair, disappointed. She’d wanted a fight, and if Eve hadn’t been there, she would’ve gone at it until Paige started crying.

“I was only curious,” Paige added, somewhat talking to herself. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”

“It’s… okay,” said Eve, reflexively switching into caretaker mode. Somehow, she felt responsible for the whole ordeal—her default reaction to most conflict. Even when the event was completely out of her control, even when the other party was blatantly overstepping her bounds, she always found a way to blame herself. Always felt this nagging sense of guilt for everything, as if her very existence was a violation of some stone-etched decree.

Right then, a blistering gust of wind hit the windows. The house lights flickered, and a quick succession of tiny blackouts rippled around the room like dominoes. Outside, a groaning creak preceded a thunderous boom.

“Holy smokes,” said Thomas, all too happy to change the topic. “That sounded like a tree.” He looked over his shoulder, out the window. “Hopefully the power holds up.” He turned back. “Went down all the time when I was a kid.” He gave a nervous laugh and looked at Eve. “You guys have a backup generator, right?”

Eve nodded. “Yeah…”

Before Thomas could respond, a familiar little voice cut in, “SORRY.” Everyone turned to see, standing in the middle of the kitchen, clothes stained with basement dust, Jenny.

Thomas sprang to his feet, hurried over, held her by the shoulders. And barely two seconds into his scolding, she burst into sobbing, kept saying, “Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Paige spoke over her. “Words without changed behavior mean nothing—”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

“Jenny,” she snapped.

Her daughter fell silent, face streaked with tears. She looked up and, one last time, whispered a meek “Sorry.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” Thomas said. “You could have gotten hurt.”

Jenny nodded, her head bobbing up and down. Eve caught a glimpse of her hands, red marks on her palms, probably from pulling on the dumbwaiter rope.

“We should get going,” Paige said, “before the roads get any worse.”

Thomas murmured agreement. “Let’s help them clean up first—”

“It’s fine,” Eve practically blurted out. “We can handle it.”

“You’re sure?” He looked at Charlie.

“We’re good,” Charlie affirmed.

Jenny, face still red from crying, chimed in, “I lost my pen.”

Everyone looked at her.

“In the basement,” she added. “I dropped it somewhere.”

Paige sighed. “We are not sending down another search party.”

Jenny looked like she was about to burst into tears all over again.

Eve jumped in. “Tomorrow, I can take a look around for it. Mail it out to you guys if I find it.” At this point, she was just saying whatever she could to get them out the door.

“That— that won’t be needed,” said Thomas.

Jenny made a loud sniffing sound.

“We’ll get you a new one,” Thomas added.

Jenny nodded, despondent.

At last, Eve watched as the family huddled back into the foyer, pulling on their winter coats, preparing to leave. But she wouldn’t let herself feel any relief until they were all outside, far out of view.

“Thanks again,” said Thomas, helping Jenny put her coat on. He looked at Eve and said, “So much for fifteen minutes tops, huh?”

She didn’t even fake a smile.

“Okay.” He swept his eyes around, doing one last head count, talking to himself. “All your favorites are here. Faust family is ready to go.” He opened the door and motioned them outside. As the last of them filed out, he turned back to Eve, gave a little wave, and said, “Have a good one.”

“Thanks,” Eve replied, giving him her first real smile of the night.

And then, praise the Lord above, the door clicked shut. Eve rushed over, locked it, and braced her back against it. A bit of an overreaction, sure. Regardless, she and Charlie were alone at last. She peered out the blinds and watched the family descend the porch, cross the yard, trudge onto the gravel laneway, and disappear from sight. Halle-fucking-lujah.

But as she lingered by the window, she couldn’t shake the sense something was off. The same feeling she used to get during morning commutes—a nagging suspicion that something important had been left behind. Keys? Wallet? Then it hit her. It was what Thomas had said, right before he was about to leave the first time:

“Have you ever noticed anything…”

… strange? Was that the word he didn’t get a chance to say? More than the question itself, his look of suppressed embarrassment stood out. Eve had assumed he was about to tell her a ghost story or something paranormal. The fact he was reluctant, if not ashamed to do so, made it all the more compelling.

Throughout her life, she’d heard many stories about encounters with ghosts and the unexplained. She half believed some, disbelieved most—but before Thomas, there was one thing they all had in common. One thing that made her doubt: the people who told them were always far too eager to share. There was always a twinkle in the would-be storyteller’s eye, a visible spark—a look that said, “Well, do I have a tale for you.”

Whatever their motivation, they were simply way too keen to have any sort of credibility. Even the ones who started their stories with “I don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that, but…” Deep down, Eve sensed they all wanted it to be true. Desperately wanted to tell anyone who would listen.

Like this ridiculous story her uncle Benji had told more than a dozen times. And every time he shared it, he had that twinkle in his eye, that spark of excitement as he talked about the “yellow-eyed, humanoid, winged monstrosity.” He said he’d been out hiking in the La Sal Mountains of Utah. The sun was setting. Golden light. Long shadows. In the distance, he saw the shape of something, crouched in the branches. “There was a menace to its posture,” he would say, “predatory like.”

As he stepped closer, his foot snapped a twig and the thing’s head swung toward him—yellow eyes wide open. “We both froze,” Uncle Benji said, reenacting the scene as he slowly reached toward his coat pocket. “I didn’t have my gun on me, so I went for my camera. Figured if I’m gonna die, folks may as well know what got me. And then, just as I pulled it out, the creature shrieked like a Ringwraith, leapt from the trees, swooped over my head, and—WHOOSH—disappeared into the darkness. Vanished. Into thin air. Literally just… gone.”

At this point in his story, depending on how many beers deep he was, Uncle Benji would sometimes stretch his arms out and imitate the screeching sound. A shrill wail. “It had arms and hands!” he would say, holding up his own as if the audience might not be familiar with the concept.

As a child, and even into her early teens, Eve believed with all her heart that Uncle Benji had seen a demon, Mothman, or something in between. And, in her defense, his story had come with “proof.” A blurry photo he’d snapped with his disposable camera. A photo he carried in his wallet, and, at the climax of his story, just before people had a chance to raise their doubts, he would pull it out like an ace in the hole.

To a young Eve, the image was quite frightening. A blurry, four-by-six glossy of something, admittedly humanoid in shape, with blinding yellow eyes, soaring through the trees. Not exactly proof of anything, but when it came to spooky stories, this shred of “evidence” certainly put Uncle Benji above the rest.

But then, he made the mistake of telling the story in front of Charlie Bastion. At the crescendo, right on cue, he pulled out the photo and held it up for all to see. Charlie, barely looking up from her meal, said, “That’s a great horned owl.”

Uncle Benji, not used to being challenged, flipped the photo back, blinked, and squinted. “I’ve seen a heckuva lot of owls; that ain’t one.”

Charlie went on. “You were down in Utah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty common there.”

His face grew redder. He turned the photo back to her, thrust his arm across the table. “But its body is long and slender, humanoid.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes. “Overexposed,” she said. “The camera stretches out moving objects.” With a pinky finger, she pointed to the corner of the image. “See there. The trees. Stretched out.”

Uncle Benji flipped it over, studied it. His eyes darted back and forth like he was reading an unexpected court summons. “But the—”

“Screeching?” she interrupted. “Owls screech, especially when they feel threatened. They’re loud,” she went on. “Sounds like bloody murder.” She pulled out her phone with one hand and brought up a YouTube video. Sure enough, the owl made a shrill, screeching sound, just like the one Uncle Benji had often imitated.

He deflated. His drunken face filled with a slow realization as he sank back into his chair, peering down at the photo on his lap. He looked like a little kid who’d just learned the truth about old Saint Nick. Eve felt bad for him, but Charlie, as usual, didn’t care.

After that dinner, Eve had pulled her aside and, uncharacteristically, called her out. “You didn’t have to do that in front of everybody.”

Charlie blinked at her, not following. “Do what?”

“Humiliate Uncle Benji,” she clarified.

Charlie scoffed. “He did a pretty good job of that himself.”

“Charlie…”

“Eve. He’s a grown man who thinks a blurry photo is proof of demons. I did him a solid.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“Never mind.” Eve dropped it.

And that was the last time Uncle Benji shared his story of the yellow-eyed monster.

All that to say, Thomas, unlike Uncle Benji, had not seemed eager to share whatever he was holding back. In Eve’s estimation that lent him a certain credibility. Now she’d have to forever wonder what kind of ghost story that guy was stowing away. She reckoned it was a meager sacrifice on the altar of peace and solitude.

But when she rounded the corner, Charlie was standing in the living room, phone in hand, face filled with bad news. Eve’s heart sank; she already knew what had happened. Still, Charlie held up the screen:

DUE TO SEVERE WEATHER CONDITIONS

THE KETTLE CREEK brIDGE HAS BEEN CLOSED

Mo yawned again. Called it.