other than a chance to hang out with a bunch of people I didn’t know? In other words: torture.
As I started jogging, the concrete beneath my feet felt unforgiving, and I struggled to establish a decent pace. A miserable side-ache was already hindering my efforts, but I kept going. Slowly. Instead of turning toward the park where I had met Will Kincaid the night before, I turned toward town. This early on a Saturday I was likely to have the streets to myself, and there was something exhilarating about having the town all to myself while most people were still asleep.
There were several streets I had never gone down before, partly because my sense of direction was so bad. Sean joked I could get lost in my own room. During a trip to downtown Portland at the end of summer, I had turned the wrong way in the mall when I left the bathroom, forcing Sean to spend the better part of an hour looking for me.
My heart skipped a beat when I passed a street called Kincaid Lane, and I made a split second decision to double back. Darcy kept pace as we turned up the hill. My breaths came unevenly as we climbed toward the top. The homes lining Kincaid were statelier and much larger than ours, and much older looking. Over the summer, before finding the bookstore where Sean worked, I had visited the tiny town library and read about an older residential section of Winters. I was guessing this was it. As the fog crept in, it gave everything around us a ghostly feel.
High wrought-iron fences or brick walls, covered by ivy, guarded many of the homes, making them difficult to see well from the street. I jogged as far as possible. High up on the hill and bordered almost entirely by woods, there was a particularly imposing house. Ivy had grown up over stone-carved figures that stood watch over the massive doors at the front entrance. It looked like no one had lived there for a long time. I wanted to get a better look at the grounds, which sprawled well beyond the main house, but like many of the other homes on the street, a gate—this one rusted and ancient—guarded the entrance to an endless driveway. Welded to the center of the gate was a macabre iron figure. I stared, fascinated by the oxidized character, which looked like it was laughing down at me.
Backing away until I had reached the street again, I looked around with a sudden sense of apprehension. Darcy was sitting, dutifully waiting for me about ten paces back. Looking past the house, I could see another entrance to the woods in the distance. Turning, I jogged quickly in the direction I had come with Darcy at my side. When I turned back for one more look at the house on the hill, it seemed to have disappeared into the mist.
Chapter 5: The Party
M y stomach was performing back flips while I sat on the couch waiting for Sean.
He was late, and I was starting to rethink my decision to go to the party. I watched as Darcy paced up and down the hall, whining. Apparently my case of nerves was contagious. Silently, I cursed myself for agreeing to go with Sean.
After offering to pick me up from the party, my dad had quickly retreated when I gave him a pained look that implied he should know better. Since I never really went out on the weekends, I didn’t have an official curfew. I always carried my phone with me, with the promise that I would call if I were going to be late. But that had never happened, not even back home. Besides, my dad almost always fell asleep by ten in the middle of grading papers or doing research for his classes.
The sound of knocking sent Darcy clattering for the front door. I took a deep breath and rushed to open it, surprised to find Sean standing on the doorstep. We had reached a point where it was natural for him to honk to announce his arrival.
“Smokin’,” Sean said, looking me up and down.
“Uh huh, sure.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. He always made it feel like an epic event any time he saw me wearing anything other than jeans, as though
As I started jogging, the concrete beneath my feet felt unforgiving, and I struggled to establish a decent pace. A miserable side-ache was already hindering my efforts, but I kept going. Slowly. Instead of turning toward the park where I had met Will Kincaid the night before, I turned toward town. This early on a Saturday I was likely to have the streets to myself, and there was something exhilarating about having the town all to myself while most people were still asleep.
There were several streets I had never gone down before, partly because my sense of direction was so bad. Sean joked I could get lost in my own room. During a trip to downtown Portland at the end of summer, I had turned the wrong way in the mall when I left the bathroom, forcing Sean to spend the better part of an hour looking for me.
My heart skipped a beat when I passed a street called Kincaid Lane, and I made a split second decision to double back. Darcy kept pace as we turned up the hill. My breaths came unevenly as we climbed toward the top. The homes lining Kincaid were statelier and much larger than ours, and much older looking. Over the summer, before finding the bookstore where Sean worked, I had visited the tiny town library and read about an older residential section of Winters. I was guessing this was it. As the fog crept in, it gave everything around us a ghostly feel.
High wrought-iron fences or brick walls, covered by ivy, guarded many of the homes, making them difficult to see well from the street. I jogged as far as possible. High up on the hill and bordered almost entirely by woods, there was a particularly imposing house. Ivy had grown up over stone-carved figures that stood watch over the massive doors at the front entrance. It looked like no one had lived there for a long time. I wanted to get a better look at the grounds, which sprawled well beyond the main house, but like many of the other homes on the street, a gate—this one rusted and ancient—guarded the entrance to an endless driveway. Welded to the center of the gate was a macabre iron figure. I stared, fascinated by the oxidized character, which looked like it was laughing down at me.
Backing away until I had reached the street again, I looked around with a sudden sense of apprehension. Darcy was sitting, dutifully waiting for me about ten paces back. Looking past the house, I could see another entrance to the woods in the distance. Turning, I jogged quickly in the direction I had come with Darcy at my side. When I turned back for one more look at the house on the hill, it seemed to have disappeared into the mist.
Chapter 5: The Party
M y stomach was performing back flips while I sat on the couch waiting for Sean.
He was late, and I was starting to rethink my decision to go to the party. I watched as Darcy paced up and down the hall, whining. Apparently my case of nerves was contagious. Silently, I cursed myself for agreeing to go with Sean.
After offering to pick me up from the party, my dad had quickly retreated when I gave him a pained look that implied he should know better. Since I never really went out on the weekends, I didn’t have an official curfew. I always carried my phone with me, with the promise that I would call if I were going to be late. But that had never happened, not even back home. Besides, my dad almost always fell asleep by ten in the middle of grading papers or doing research for his classes.
The sound of knocking sent Darcy clattering for the front door. I took a deep breath and rushed to open it, surprised to find Sean standing on the doorstep. We had reached a point where it was natural for him to honk to announce his arrival.
“Smokin’,” Sean said, looking me up and down.
“Uh huh, sure.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. He always made it feel like an epic event any time he saw me wearing anything other than jeans, as though
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