I glanced at Scarlet, then back to Mr. Gresham. "Magnolia?" My voice was low and dry.

  Gresham nodded. "Bobby called the sheriff to go wake her, same as always, but Philip had already gotten some calls from the trailer park about a commotion."

  I knelt again, and Scarlet threw her small arms around me and began to sob.

  "When?" the shock in my voice sounded familiar. I remembered asking that question when I was told about my Rose-Mary Grand and my father.

  "The sheriff's not sure, but the neighbors said before sunrise valley time this morning.

  "She didn't just pass; she was murdered," Gresham said with a hoarseness developing in his voice.

  "What are you...? Why are you saying this in front of her?"

  "They’ll find out soon enough," he said in growing hopelessness.

  "Who did it, Preacher?" asked Amy.

  "That, I shouldn't say. Something I didn't think I'd ever have to say again."

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  "It was a ghost child wasn't it?" asked Jason.

  "Was it?" asked Montana.

  Other students chimed in. "Who did it, preacher?"

  "It looks like one of the damned." Gresham's words sounded like they were boiling up from his lower gut.

  Horror struck the class, as several whispered, "Joshua Johnson?"

  Jason threw out his arm and pointed to me. "See what you've done, you son-of-a-bitch!"

  Peter stood. "Hold on, kid."

  I pointed at both of them. "Peter, Jason! Sit down."

  Gresham's voice pulsed with panic. "She died from multiple ax wounds to the head and shoulders."

  I shot to my feet. "I told you to shut up!"

  Gresham's voice sounded like he was somewhere far away, "Whoever it was beat her up something awful. He broke her shoulder like it was chalk, and he chopped her up just like he did his parents."

  "That's enough, Gresham," Sheriff Rollin said, stepping into the school.

  Gresham’s face tensed, which subsided when Franklin walked in.

  Both the sheriff's and Frank's faces were long, tired, and covered with concern. The sheriff's eyes focused on me. "I need to speak to Scarlet."

  Franklin reached out to the girl. "Come on, sweetheart. We’re going to go see Grandma Rollin at the church."

  Scarlet became aware that everyone was staring at her. She gathered up a maturity that amounted to more than her twelve years and sulked over to Franklin.

  He ushered her out the door. "We're going to get you situated with a family," his words trailed off. I watched them through the window. She held Franklin's hand as they walked to the sheriff's truck.

  Mr. Gresham tried to speak, but I cut him off. "Not another word!"

  I turned and adjusted my clothes while I tried to calm myself. "Children, all of you, go home. Go straight home, and don't stop moving until you get there."

  The children obeyed and exited.

  I went to Philip. "Who will look after her?"

  "The church will take good care of her. One of the families will take her in. She'll have her a bed, other kids, food. She'll be fine, Matt."

  "Losing a parent like that? I'm not so sure."

  I rubbed my hands over my hair and let out a deep breath. "Let me know if I can do anything."

  "Of course." Philip put his hat on and stepped outside. "Come on, Gresham."

  Gresham stared at me. "I want to know why you were consoling the child like you already knew what happened."

  It was like a jab to the face. I knew I couldn't explain my daydream to him.

  He narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong with your leg?"

  "It's nothing."

  "That's what I thought you'd say," he said.

  "I'm not Joshua Johnson."

  "That may be, teacher, but all of this stuff started after you came into town. Don't think people haven't noticed."

  "Noticed what?"

  He let out a cocky grunt. "You being out after dark on numerous occasions, knocking on people's doors, running home right before daybreak half-naked? Care to explain that?"

  I didn't respond.

  "Somehow you're in on it."

  "That's ridiculous. I haven't done anything."

  "You came to town."

  "You think I'm a killer? You really are backwoods if you think that."

  "Watch your words, mister," said Gresham as he drove his index finger into my chest.

  I slapped his hand away.

  He stepped closer, hovering over me. "I don't think you know what you've gotten yourself into, teacher. You might need to think about where you are—"

  "Or where I need to be?"

  "You said it not me. Maybe you can read minds?"

  "Simple thoughts are easy to determine," I said.

  He brought up his fist. I flinched.

  Damn it, I flinched.

  My embarrassment ran across my face.

  He grinned, which was the worst insult. "You just watch that mouth, boy."

  I'd gone from "sir," to "teacher," to "boy" in less than a minute. I tried to stand strong. "I have nothing to hide."

  "We all do, boy." He shoved me, which was enough to make me stagger back.

  "Let's go, Gresham," called the sheriff from outside.

  "Don't turn your back on an open window," he said and walked out of the schoolhouse.

  I slammed my palm down and leaned over the desk. I had shown my bluff. What's worse, I just made an enemy or created a bully out of the preacher. "What the hell?"

  "Don't feel bad, Mr. Christian," a voice said.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "He's bigger than you. Anyone would have been afraid of him."

  I turned around.

  There was no one there. The room was empty except for the slow rising dust floating in the yellow sunlight.

  67

  I needed to talk to Franklin, but I needed to go home first and get myself together. My head buzzed, and my eyes burned. No matter how many times, or how hard I blinked, they kept burning. Just one pill would get me together, then I would go to find him.

  I opened the front door and slammed it. "Finally, quiet," I assured myself and then rested my head against the door.

  "Have a bad day, Matt?"

  I jumped and threw myself against the wall. Sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace was Frank.

  "Frank, you scared the shit out of me."

  He said nothing, just sat there with a stoic expression on his face.

  "What are you doing in—"

  He cut me off, "In my own house? I'm visiting my tenant. Sit down."

  His tone was clear. This wasn't going to be good. I sat on the sofa, but then got up and started pacing. I took a deep breath and exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck.

  His beady eyes studied me. “Matt, are you okay?"

  "Yes, of course, it's just everything that's happening. Magnolia, I mean."

  He held up a hand. "I didn't mean that. I meant are you okay?"

  I paused. "I said yes."

  He narrowed his eyes. "Are you fit to teach children?"

  I stopped. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  He shook his head. "I'll be honest with you, Matt, I've seen your bathroom and your bottles of pills. There are so many I had to call Bill. Some of them are serious medications prescribed only to mental patients."

  "How dare you go through my stuff? You have no right—"

  He deflected all the emotion I was throwing at him. "It's my house, I can do whatever I want. The pills, Matt. Or do I need to call the sheriff."

  I stopped. "They’re just for depression," I said in frustration.

  "Not just depression—"

  I spoke over him, "And anxiety. You don't have to tell me. I know the medications I take. They were given to me by a doctor!"

  Franklin shook his head.

  "I don't care what you think. You, Bankward, or the whole goddamned town."

  "Speaking of Bankward, he made a phone call to your old school."

  I recoiled and stared out the window.

  "Turns out Middwood's newest resident has a few skeletons in his closet, and I'm beginning to wonder if he just added another one."

  I turned. "Why didn't you tell me about the house?"

  He held up his hand. "Don't change the subject."

  I threatened, "No. No, you don't change the subject. Why didn't you tell me Sarah was your daughter?"

  Frank fought to stay calm. "Matt, did you kill Magnolia?"

  "No, I didn't." I pulled the ottoman close to him and sat. "Why didn't you tell me about the ghost children?"

  "I asked you about them after you were outside in the middle of the night screaming your head off."

  "But, Frank, you never told me about them!"

  "We're not talking about children who died thirteen years ago."

  I stood, throwing my hands up. "They're not in the ground! None of them are! It is so bizarre that a whole town will talk about them, but yet you work so hard to cover up—"

  "What was the argument you had with Magnolia yesterday? You were screaming at each other. A lot of people said you got very heated."

  "Frank, she had her hands all over me!"

  "Scarlet told the sheriff that when you walked her home last Thursday night, you and Magnolia were discussing meeting up together—”

  "Scarlet was scared, so I walked her home—"

  "Were you sleeping with Magnolia?"

  "God, no."

  "What were you doing at old man Casteel's shed this morning?"

  "How do you know about that?"

  He crossed his arms. "So you admit it?"

  "One of the bastards attacked me last night."

  "One of the what?"

  I pushed my palms into my eyes and leaned my head back. "The ghost children! Are you not fucking listening to me?"

  "Matt, please—"

  I paced the living room. "One did! The little one, dripping wet, attacked me upstairs and I woke up at the goddamn mine!" I shouted pointing out the window. "Now you explain that to me," I demanded.

  "Maybe we can say that you were out of your mind and you didn't mean to kill her."

  "Are you serious? I didn’t—"

  Franklin stood. "Why were you at the shed?"

  I gritted through my teeth, “I didn’t go there."

  “Were you with Magnolia last night?”

  “No!”

  “Did you two get in a fight?”

  “That was only at the store. She—”

  “Is that why you were half-naked, trapped on the mountain? You were hiding?”

  “I woke up that way—”

  “I can’t help you unless you let me.”

  “I’m telling you—"

  "How many pills did you take today?”

  “None!”

  He stood face to face with me, raising his voice, “How many pills did you take yesterday?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Matt, the woman is dead. Killed in broad daylight and everyone is looking at you."

  "She was killed with an ax. I'm not your grandson!"

  Slap

  The silence stung me more than his hand. My mind filled with so many options, actions, words, murderous urges, and fears following the strike.

  I didn't look at him. "I didn't kill anyone."

  “How many pills?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t remember. I—”

  Franklin's tone softened. "Matt, the children say you talk to yourself all the time. You see things, you hear things, and sometimes you just start crying. You were crying this morning when the kids found you.”

  “I was trapped on a fucking mountain cliff!”

  “You were crying this afternoon when Pastor Gresham walked in. You were down on your knees telling Scarlet how sorry you were."

  "That was just a daydream."

  "A daydream? Matt, are you hearing yourself?"

  I shut up. It was time to keep quiet.

  In response to my silence, Franklin looked grim. "I see." He moved to the door.

  "Franklin, I didn't kill Magnolia."

  "I hope you didn't. I really hope you didn't, but until this is sorted out, I am closing the school. You are to remain inside until notified."

  "What? Stay here? Am I under arrest?"

  He stopped at the door. "Would you rather sleep in a jail cell?"

  My heart beat hard, and my face burned red, but I didn't care. "If the devil chooses to take my soul because I broke this town's rules, then so be it. I'm guilty of that, but I did not kill Magnolia."

  "I hope you're right." He turned to me, "because you don't want to know what we do to people who hurt one of our own. Do me a favor, remember what you just said about the devil." He opened the door and turned to me. "But, Mr. Christian, it won't be the devil who will be coming for you. It will be his children."

  I fumed as he left. I crossed to the door and slammed my fist against the wood.

  I dashed up the stairs to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was open, and my bottles were all out of order. I clenched my teeth as I swiped my hand across the shelves, sending bottles flying across the room and into the toilet.

  "Dammit!" I shouted and dropped to my knees looking for Rose-Mary Grand’s pills.

  I stuck my hands into the toilet and pulled the bottle out of the basin. I twisted the cap, shook out two pills, and stood up.

  I popped them in my mouth and turned on the water, but then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. "Stop," I whispered.

  I froze and looked at the bottle. Was there any truth in it? The dreams, the mine, the shed, the girls, and the pills?

  I spit the pills out, and I put the bottle down.

  I wandered into the Tomb and leaned my back against the door until it shut. If I could have locked myself in from the outside, I would have.

  I was still. I was afraid. I left the light on. I'm not sure how long I stood there. I'm not even sure I was thinking. Every time I tried to think, my mind would snap back like a pulled rubber band to questions, lots and lots of questions, too hard, too locked away to mention.

  I started crying. I wasn't crying out of fear, but because my mind wasn't able to comprehend what was going on. Why was I being haunted? Had I conjured the ghosts?

  I started playing over my fantasy of killing Scarlet in my mind. It had been so real.

  My legs started to tire, and I slid down the back of the door. "I'm going insane."

  Like my father, and just like my Rose-Mary Grand, I was crazy.

  But the real question clawed its way to the surface. My lips parted, moving on their own and I heard myself ask, "Did I kill Magnolia?"

  68

  Tuesday, November 10, 1964

  Sunrise 7:06 am. Sunset 5:27 pm.

  * * *

  Hours later, I cracked open the door to the Tomb. Amber light poured onto the hallway carpet from the bathroom. It was morning.

  "I made it." I didn't wake up anywhere strange, I didn't have any crazy dreams, but that was because I'd fought all night to stay awake. I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a crazed laugh.

  I went downstairs and opened the shutters. I glimpsed two of the neighbors closing their windows, and Amy's mother ran inside.

  "What gives?" I shook my head. Why was she running? What? Were they afraid of me? I wondered.

  I stood there and pondered that. They were. They were afraid of me. I chuckled. It was a new kind of feeling. Power. People were afraid of me.

  "That's right, bitch! You better hide! I'll cut you up!" I snarled, then burst into laughter. I knew I was exhausted, which only made the laughter more amusing. I added some extra air behind it and out boomed an evil cackle.

  I strutted into the kitchen and got myself some cereal. While I fixed my bowl, a mischievous grin grew across my face. I grabbed my bowl and went to the front door. I threw it open and walked out onto the porch and chomped and crunched as loud as I could.

  The man across the street was heading off to the mine for his shift. I called out to him, "Good morning, neighbor."

  He gave me a perplexed look. He didn't respond, but I waved at him until he waved back. I shouted, "I have to piss."

  He turned his head and kept walking.

  I looked back to the three houses across the street. I could feel their eyes on me. Of course, they were watching me. They didn't have anything else to do.

  I put my bowl down on the porch rail, and I slowly pulled off my shirt. Then twirled it above my head.

  I did have to pee.

  A grin sprouted on my face, as I toyed with the idea of peeing off the porch. My dad used to do it all the time.

  "Screw it." I stepped up to the banisters, and I lowered my zipper.

  The phone rang.

  I tilted my head back. "Dammit, people, the show was just about to start." I pointed to all the houses. "I saw you looking! I know you did."

  Grabbing my bowl, I turned on my heels and walked inside, leaving the door opened.

  I picked up the phone. I already knew who it was. "What, Frank?"

  "Put some clothes on."

  "Go fuck yourself." I hung up.

  I laughed and took another bite of my cereal. I still had to pee, and I smiled as I walked back to the door. I crossed the threshold about the same time the sheriff's truck pulled up. I rolled my eyes and thought about doing a cartwheel.

  He rolled down the window. "Matt?"

  I leaned over the porch rails, smacking. "Yes, Philip Rollin? I mean, Sheriff."

  He put his elbow on the door and leaned toward me. "How are you doing this morning?" he asked with a concerned smile.

  "What, Sheriff?" I smiled. "I can't hear you. I would come down there, but Franklin put me under house arrest."

  "Did he?" He continued his grin.

  "Yep." I gave a deep nod.

  He snapped his fingers and pointed his index finger at me like you would when you caught someone in a white lie. "You heard me that time."

  I copied his gesture. "Yes, sir, I did."

  Rollin eyed me.

  "But don't worry, Sheriff Philip Rollin, I'm staying right here. I'm just eating some cereal. Would you like some?"

  He gave a laugh. "Would I like some cereal?" he asked, and he got out of his truck.

 

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