Nevermore

The sidewalk raced by beneath her pounding feet, the chilled autumn air stinging her lungs. As she ran, Isobel felt her body enter that uncomfortable place of being warm on the inside but cold with sweat on the outside. She knew she’d pay later for not having warmed up or anything before launching straight into a full-out run.

She tried to picture Danny still holding down the fort, doing whatever he could to direct attention away from her unusually quiet room, which her parents, by now, would have started to wonder about. And if they hadn’t, well, they would when they sat down to dinner and she wasn’t there.

She swung around a crosswalk pole, stopping to tap the silver button. The light changed, and with only a moment’s hesitation to check for traffic, she jogged across the street to Willow Avenue. She slowed, however, as a new thought entered her mind. She stopped and stared down the road where, just ahead, she could see one of the side entrances to the park.

She hesitated, taking a moment to breathe, to debate. She pulled the straps of her backpack forward, bringing the bag flush with her back, and she felt the weight of the Poe book as it pressed into her spine.

Even though the park was huge, with forest patches split by lots of twisty, turny roads and steep rolling hills, it would be a lot faster to cut through. And getting past the closed-off entrance and into her subdivision would be as simple as climbing over a low wooden gate. Growing up, she and Danny must have done it every weekend in the summer.

She glanced skyward. Through the smattering of clouds, three early night stars shone in the deepening blue, but it wasn’t completely dark yet. If she went through the park, if she ran the whole way and managed not to get lost, she’d make it in time for sure. She knew it.

Her mind made up, she darted for the park entrance.

On either side of the street loomed tall and haughty window-faced Victorian homes. They seemed to watch her as she veered past, taking the one-way blacktop road that curved upward into the park.

Soon, the houses and buildings and streetlights fell away. Her path narrowed to a single, twisting lane of asphalt. Rows of trees and thick underbrush emerged on either side of her. The farther into the park she ran, the denser the surrounding forest grew.

Overhead, the interlocking patchwork of hanging boughs worked to transform her pathway into a darkening tunnel. Through the lacework of limbs, thick clouds inched by.

Isobel ran on, listening to the soft beat of her sneakers as they pounded the blacktop. She couldn’t wait to get home and into a hot shower. She thought about making herself some peppermint tea and maybe even going to bed early, even though she couldn’t say it was because she was looking forward to tomorrow.

Darkness crept in around her, spreading its fingers through the trees, working to smear them into a single black blur.

As she approached a fork in the road, she slowed, but only long enough to decide that she should keep going straight. She’d somehow forgotten that the city didn’t keep the park roads lit, and she hoped that if a car came up it would have its lights on, that she would hear it, and that the driver would see her.

She kept running, her breath the loudest sound in her ears. The only sound.

She frowned, at last admitting to herself that something had felt funny since she’d entered the park.

Only now, however, could she place her finger on what.

She slowed her run to a jog, listening to the lonely, hollow clap of her sneakers.

Quiet.

Everything around her stood really still and really . . . quiet.

The breeze that had greeted her outside the bookshop had vanished somewhere between there and here, and she looked up now to find the tree limbs motionless, their leaves immobile.

Or were those leaves at all?

A black shadow moved in one of the trees, and Isobel registered the silhouette of one huge black bird. It made no sound, though it seemed to watch her from its perch. One of the leaves at its side moved. Another bird. Soon, with a ruffle of feathers, she noticed another and, on her other side, another.

One of them broke the silence with a caw, the sound falling harsh on her ears, rasping and raw.

Spooked, Isobel picked up the pace again, glad that cheerleading had kept her in such great shape.

True, she wasn’t the world’s best runner, but she could keep going if she needed to, and right now, she needed to.

She wondered, an ice-water sensation rushing through her veins with the thought, if Bess could have followed her. Could poltergusties—or whatever they were—could they follow someone? Stick to them like parasites?

Isobel shook off the convulsive shudder that rattled its way through her shoulders. Stupid idea. No such thing as ghosts. Only stupid boys with morbid fascinations and old men who liked to slam doors.