The Fear, page 1
ALSO BY NATASHA PRESTON
The Cellar
Awake
The Cabin
You Will Be Mine
The Lost
The Twin
The Lake
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2022 by Natasha Preston
Cover art by Chekalin Nikolai/Shutterstock
The Twin excerpt text copyright © 2020 by Natasha Preston. Cover art copyright © 2020 by Marie Carr/Arcangel.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 9780593125014 (pbk.)—ebook ISBN 9780593125038
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Contents
Cover
Also by Natasha Preston
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from The Twin
This one is for my niece, Daisy, who has just started writing her first book.
prologue
FEAR
I watch the pathetic buzz of excitement from my car. The heavy snowstorm creates a kaleidoscope of color as students sprint into Rock Bay High wearing brightly colored parkas and the hockey team’s letterman jackets. This school is all about hockey; if you don’t like it, you can pretty much rule out succeeding in athletics here.
They all stare at their phone screens as they run. With my window cracked open, I can hear some of them over the howling wind as they pass me without a second glance—the way I like it. They debate the topic of the day: Who has the worst death fear?
My mouth twitches as I realize that it’s working.
January through March is dead in this town, more so than usual, so I knew it would be the right time to begin my plan. My meme is spreading like wildfire. I never had any doubt that it would. Morbid curiosity, boredom, and a stream of serial killer documentaries on Netflix have made death and murder cool.
Now I have everyone talking about the most painful and gory deaths. They’re sharing their most feared end.
I used a fake account to post the meme, some random girl’s pretty face as the hook. I used it to friend-request Kason Risby. I knew he’d go for it; he’s the type. As soon as he reposted the meme, I logged out of that account, and I haven’t looked at it since.
The cops can trace the IP address, but it will go to a greasy truckers’ café off the interstate. Far enough from our cruddy fishing town.
I watch everyone run up the steps, the jocks in a pack, the band geeks carrying instruments, the popular girls cackling. They disappear into the building quickly because of the weather, but I know what they’ll be talking about.
High school is always the same. The thrill of a new challenge or dare lingers for weeks, and everyone gets involved, desperate to be a part of something.
Snow whips my face as it flies sideways through the gap in my window. My car is damp, my hair wet. I’ve been locked out in bad weather so many times over the years that it doesn’t bother me anymore.
I think I could survive for days out in the snow.
That’s one positive from my childhood, I suppose.
With a sigh, I close the window, get out of my car, and walk a few steps closer to the building. My heavy boots crunch in the snow.
They’re all excited about sharing their biggest fear. Excited by something I barely made it through. It’s a game to them, all laughing and debating whose death fear is actually the worst. Strangling, drowning, falling, hanging—the list goes on.
My hands curl into fists. This town must have known what I was going through, but no one dared look closer. Not one adult asked if everything was okay at home. My life was a game to the people who should have taken care of me.
Soon they will all know that I’m not playing.
This isn’t just some stupid meme.
This is revenge.
Death is coming.
one
IZZY
Snow coats the ground like a fluffy blanket. It looks beautiful, like thousands of tiny crystals that glisten in the sun. But it also conceals what could be underneath.
Last winter it took two months—until the snow finally melted—to find my neighbor’s dead dog. Two full months that little terrier had been lying there, just yards from their front door.
Anything could be lurking under the snow.
We have a couple of months left of freezing conditions, but the air has been warming. Not quite enough to make the snow melt or stop it from falling, but just enough so that I don’t feel like I’m being punched in the lungs every time I step outside.
I walk to my car and immediately blast the heat. The roads are clear, as they’re plowed regularly, giving the impression that they’ve been carved out of the ten inches of snow that frames them.
More storms are in the forecast.
The sun is up, but gray clouds stop it from making an appearance. January is perpetual nighttime in our little fishing town. When my car is warm, I flick the lights on and back out of the driveway. Luckily, my dad shoveled yesterday, or I’d be late to school.
I better get accepted into Florida State. No more freezing air, no more winter coats and woolly hats, and no more wondering if there’s anything dead under the snow.
My sister, Lia, escaped to college in North Carolina last year, and she’s enjoying the warmer climate—and the food—immensely.
It’s senior year, and I still haven’t gotten Justin Rae to notice that I exist or told my best friend, Sydney—Syd—that I don’t really like going to parties, the mall, or any other place she drags me to.
We’re supposed to be going to Mariella Whitmore’s party tonight. Rich girl, wants to marry a billionaire, says “like” a lot—you know the type.
Lia calls me a shadow person because I follow silently and never stick up for myself.
I’d be offended if it weren’t completely true.
My car rumbles as I pull into the parking lot. I park in the same spot as always, Lia’s old one.
I check myself out in the visor mirror. My complexion is fair, clear skin and rosy cheeks that I’m so grateful for, because I’m terrible at applying makeup. My hair is naturally wavy, which suits me just fine, be cause I prefer to sleep in rather than waking early to style it. I have the same hazel eyes as my sister, though my left eye has a ton of green specks. Syd says it’s cool, and I’ve grown to like it.
I close the mirror and grab my backpack.
Rock Bay High has been my home for the last three and a half years. The town used to be named Rock Bass Bay, but they dropped the “Bass” years ago in an attempt to sound less fishy. Now we sound much cooler than we are.
It didn’t help, though. Thanks to bigger ports in the state, this still isn’t a town you come to unless you live here.
“Izzy!” Syd says, pulling my car door open as if it’s on fire. Frozen air hits me instantly. “What took you so long?”
Startled, I look at the time on my dash. “I’m actually earlier than—”
“Forget it. Have you heard? Justin dumped Gemma. He’s back on the market!”
That would be awesome news if I had even a hint of a shot with him.
“I don’t care,” I tell her.
“Sure you don’t.” She rolls her incredible sage eyes and scrolls her phone.
Syd’s tall, has smooth, dark skin, full lips, stunning shoulder-length curls, and the biggest smile. We’ve been inseparable since freshman year.
“You should go for it, Iz.”
Justin has never given me a second glance with his pretty green eyes.
She gasps as if she’s just remembered something. “Hey, have you seen this? It’s everywhere right now.”
She shoves her screen in my face as I get out of the car. I blink and rear my head back. “Well, I can’t see it from three inches in front of my face, can I?” I push the phone back.
“See.”
“A new meme? A game? Fear what? What am I looking at, Syd?”
There’s a picture of a frozen red rose on a snowy dock. Some of the petals have broken off and are scattered around it. Text sits over the image:
REPOST WITH YOUR DEATH FEAR!
If death came for you today, what would be the worst way to go? #thefear
“That’s not at all creepy—wait, is this a picture of our dock?” I look over my shoulder in the direction of the port, though school is nowhere near it. Then I look back at the picture. Yeah, it definitely is. The wooden post behind the flower looks just like the one at Puck’s, the local diner. It even has the initials of the owner, Matthew, and a hockey puck carved into it.
No wonder everyone around here is going extra crazy for this challenge. They think someone we know created it.
“That’s totally what I thought! Must be someone around here trying to go viral. How lame,” she replies.
“They didn’t leave their name. Looks like the original post comes from Janie Dow. Nice play on Jane Doe there. How long before this is flagged?”
She shakes her head and takes her phone back as we walk into school. “Who do you think it is? It screams high school, right?”
I shrug. “Probably someone who goes here.”
Inside, it stinks like cleaning products and the repressed scent of feet. Our hockey team trains daily, and the smell proves it. So do all the shiny trophies from the glory days in the trophy cabinet.
Rock Bay High is big on hockey. RBH Blade Rockies banners hang above almost every door, with the sharkiest-looking Rock Bay logo I have ever seen.
Justin is captain of the team and insists on working harder so we have a shot at winning…anything this year. We actually might with him and Kason Risby leading.
I glance down the hall and notice that almost everyone is staring at their phones and muttering to each other. That’s not about this meme, right?
“What’s your fear? Wait, I know this. It’s suffocating, right?” Syd asks, tapping on her phone as we weave between crowds of students.
“Yep,” I reply. “And yours is being stabbed to death, a million times, like in a horror movie.”
“I don’t like pain, and that has to be such a painful way to go, right? I heard drowning is peaceful.”
I bark a laugh.
Peaceful. The only peaceful way to go is in your sleep. That’s what I’m hoping for—when I’m old and gray.
I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this.
“Fire would be an awful way to go, too,” Syd adds.
“I thought social media was where people went to brag about their perfect lives.”
Syd links her arm with mine as we walk to homeroom. “That’s so yesterday, Izzy. Keep up. Now it’s all about challenges and serial killers.”
“I’m not eating Tide Pods.”
“That should be your death fear, Iz.”
“Stupid people on TikTok or ingesting chemicals?”
She laughs as we enter the classroom.
“No way is being shot in the head worse than drowning,” Kason says loudly, as if he wants the entire school’s attention, and flicks his dark hair. He laughs and thumps Justin playfully on his muscular arm.
They’re a good duo. Every guy wants to be them, and every girl wants to date them. Isn’t that what they say? I’m sure that’s what Kason thinks. He’s a cocky asshole who’s relying solely on hockey to get him into college.
Syd and I take seats at our usual desks.
Justin is…different. All right, he’s super sure of himself and popular, but I’ve never heard of him treating anyone badly. He is a serial dater like Kason, though.
Another reason why I wouldn’t go there even if I had a chance: I think he averages about three months with a girl and then moves on. Still, it’s longer than Kason’s three hours.
I’m in agreement with Kason on this one, though: drowning would be worse than getting shot.
Mrs. Grady takes attendance, and the bell for first period rings.
I overhear about a dozen horrible ways to die as we walk to AP English.
Mariella strolls past with her stand-in friend Jessie, as her real friends, Tayley and Debbie, aren’t in her first period. “As if I’m going to die any way other than spectacularly. It needs to be, like, newsworthy, you know?”
I swear I lose a brain cell every time I hear her say “like.”
In AP English, I take a seat near the back, next to Axel, a kid who could probably have his master’s degree already and rarely talks to anyone. He always wears leather and a bored expression.
It wouldn’t surprise me if someone said their biggest fear was “Axel staring at me to death with his threatening glare.”
There’s a rumor that he’s older but got held back. Only that doesn’t make sense, because he’s a genius. There’s another rumor that he intentionally failed exams to stay behind. But who would want to make high school last longer? No one.
I take a look around the room. I’ve never seen everyone so cheerful in the middle of winter before—especially halfway through January. And all it took was discussing the one way they’d never want to die…
Justin is in the last row with Tayley and Debbie. Tayley is hanging on his every word. It looks like she’s begun her campaign to be his next girlfriend now that he’s single again.
Mr. Morrison bursts into the room and clears his throat—he does that to start the lesson.
I try not to switch off at the constant drone of his monotone voice.
“How was your weekend?” I ask Axel.
His head twists toward me slowly. His eyes are such a light blue they’re almost the color of the ice outside. They don’t look real, but I can see that he’s not wearing lenses. “Fine. Yours?”
I flip open my textbook. “Shopping and a movie night with Syd.”
