The Haunting Between Us, page 7
Chloe is at the counter, talking to a woman with long red hair and a green turtleneck who looks very much like Chloe plus about twenty-five years. She has the same pale complexion, deep tan freckles, and emerald-green eyes.
As we approach, Chloe’s eyes widen.
“Oh—um—hi, everybody,” she stammers.
“Hey, Chloe,” Abby says. “You coming to Salty’s with us?”
“Yeah. Maya’s there already. I—uh—I needed to talk to my aunt first.” Chloe trails off and glances downward.
A moment of uncomfortable silence descends, which Abby squishes like a bug. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Oh, yeah,” Chloe blurts. “Sorry. This is Aunt Margaret. Aunt Margaret, these are my friends Taylor, Abby, and—um—and this is Cameron.”
As soon as Chloe says my name, Margaret’s eyes light up. She stares at me intently for a moment. What the heck is this about? Just as I’m growing uncomfortable, her face relaxes, and she smiles.
“Nice to meet all of you,” she says in a friendly voice that’s the tiniest bit gravelly.
We all say hello.
“I love your shop,” Taylor says. “This is where I buy my scented candles. I didn’t realize you had Wiccan stuff back here.”
Margaret laughs. “Yes. This is what I call the heart of my shop. My real passion. I love the candles in the front, but they mostly help pay the bills.”
“Well, we should get going,” Chloe says, cutting in. “Thanks, Aunt Margaret.”
“Anytime, Chloe,” Margaret says with a smile. “Remember what I said.”
Chloe nods and shoos us out. “C’mon, let’s go.”
As we walk down the street toward Salty’s, I whisper to Abby, “Do you think Chloe’s acting strange around me?”
“Chloe always acts a little strange,” Abby says.
Taylor holds open the old wooden door, and we file into the lobby of Salty’s. It takes a moment to adjust to the dimness of the old tavern. A long wooden bar runs the entire length of the room, lined with old leather swivel stools. A few regulars dressed in fishing gear are cozied up to the bar with icy beer mugs in their hands.
Archie, the bartender, waves at us as we enter. “Hey, kids!” A white apron spans his ample belly, and he dabs sweat from his bald head. “Your friends are in the back.”
“Thanks, Archie,” I reply with a wave as we head past the bar and into the back room.
A myriad of faded posters and nautical decorations, nets, and old wooden buoys cover the walls. Sunlight streams through a bank of windows on the far side of the room that provide a view of the dark waters of Port Townsend Bay. An eclectic mix of antique wooden tables and chairs sit in random spots with no discernible pattern. Old vinyl booths line the room, big enough for large groups of people. This room feels like home to me. So comforting.
Maya and Matty are chatting in a booth with smiles on their faces. As we approach, they say hi.
“How’s it going?” I ask, sliding in next to Matty.
Maya’s smile turns into a frown. “No Hugo, huh? I thought having Taylor ask would do the trick for sure.”
“Nope,” I say. The constant reminders are depleting my energy. “And maybe let’s drop the Hugo talk, okay? It’s getting depressing. I need to accept that he isn’t interested in hanging out.”
Maya’s frown deepens as she stares at her girlfriend. Chloe glances down and avoids my gaze. Okay, something’s definitely going on.
“What?” I glance between them.
Chloe says nothing.
Maya can’t take it any longer and blurts, “Chloe had a dream.”
“Maya!” Chloe chides. “I told you not to say anything.”
“But he should know,” Maya says, gesturing to me.
“What’s up, Chloe?” I ask. “You can tell me.”
I knew it. Chloe’s been sending me strange vibes all week. A feeling is one thing, but now she’s having dreams about me? That’s a whole new ballgame, and to be honest, it kind of freaks me out. Chloe’s dreams are not to be ignored.
A few months ago, she dreamed that lightning struck the old church on 4th Ave. and it burned down. A week later, it happened. Last year, a seven-year-old boy went missing, and Chloe was sure he was stuck in the old abandoned military bunkers in Fort Worden on the edge of town. She left an anonymous note at the police station. They found the boy with a broken leg at the bottom of a metal ladder. One rung embedded in the concrete had broken free, and he’d fallen twenty feet. He was bleeding and banged up. They were lucky to have found him so fast. She might have saved his life.
Chloe stays silent, and Maya whispers something in her ear. Chloe nods slowly but remains quiet.
“Go ahead,” Maya says.
Chloe sighs. “It was a dream about you and Hugo. But it was a fuzzy dream.”
“Fuzzy?” I ask.
“Yeah. Sometimes my dreams are vivid—those tend to be things that have already happened, and they’re pretty accurate. Fuzzy dreams are usually things in the future. They aren’t precise. More like feelings. Things that could happen.”
“You had a fuzzy dream about Hugo and me?”
“Yes.” Chloe pauses, choosing her words carefully. “About you, Hugo, and”—she takes a deep breath—“the house.”
“The house?” I stare at her, mouth agape. “You mean Hugo’s house? Crimson House?”
She nods. “I saw the two of you standing in a dark room. I know it was Hugo’s house. Don’t ask me how.”
“What were we doing?”
“It was fuzzy. I don’t like talking about fuzzy dreams.”
“Chloe, please.” I hate to push her, but this is important.
“You two were doing something. Hugging, maybe? Or crying?”
“Hugging or crying?”
“See? I’m not sure. It was too fuzzy.” She sighs. “I felt that you two and the house were connected somehow.”
“Connected? What does that mean?”
“That’s just it,” Chloe says. “I don’t know. It’s fuzzy. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything.”
Our waitress walks up, a twentysomething woman in jeans and a plaid shirt. Her mousy brown hair is in a ponytail, and she has a no-nonsense appearance.
“Hey, kids. Ready to order?” she asks. The expressions on our faces give her pause. “Am I interrupting something? Should I come back?”
“No, it’s okay,” Chloe says. “I’ll have a Diet Coke, please.”
I guess that’s all Chloe is going to tell me for now, but I’ll do some more digging later. She can’t drop heavy stuff like that and expect me not to ask questions.
Everybody gets sodas, and we order a large plate of nachos for the table. Matty orders a cheeseburger too. He’s been able to eat whatever he wants for as long as I’ve known him, and somehow he keeps his athletic build without putting on an ounce of fat. It drives me nuts.
When our waitress leaves, I’m dying to shift the attention off of me. “Does anybody else want to talk about their love life? Or nonexistent love life, as the case may be?”
“I asked Sophia to homecoming,” Matty says with a smile, but his eyes are sad.
“And?” I ask.
“She said she’d get back to me.”
A collective groan erupts from the table.
“Sorry, Matty,” I say, grimacing.
“It’s okay. I’ll give her some time. But I have backups.”
Matty smiles a genuine smile. He’s always cheerful. Nothing gets him down. He’s one of the best-looking guys at school, so he’ll have no trouble finding a date. But he also has a big personality and comes across as odd if you don’t know him. For instance, his favorite show is Ru Paul’s Drag Race, and he won’t shut up about it. And his fashion sense is very…eclectic. His current outfit includes plaid pants, a striped shirt, and a letterman jacket. But those things make him fun and unique, and any girl who doesn’t recognize that doesn’t deserve him. I might even ask him out myself if he wasn’t hopelessly into girls. He likes attention so much that there’s a good chance he’d say yes anyway.
“I assume you two are going together,” Matty asks Maya and Chloe.
“Well, sure,” Maya says. “But a girl still likes to be asked.” She gives Chloe a cute little pout, batting her eyelashes.
“Maya, will you go to homecoming with me?” Chloe asks in a singsong voice.
“Does this answer your question?” Maya pecks Chloe on the lips. Chloe answers by giving Maya a big kiss. Like, a passionate one, with tongue and everything.
“Get a room, you two!” Matty laughs.
“And miss out on nachos?” Maya says after separating from Chloe.
“I might ask Liam Cooper,” Taylor says unprompted, which is cool. Taylor doesn’t talk about their love life much. “He’s been flirty with me in trig class. But then again, I might stay home and binge some shows.”
“I might join you,” Abby adds. “I don’t have anybody to ask.” Taylor smiles at that.
Matty cuts in. “I thought you liked Jessica Quint, Abby. Or was it her brother Elias?” Matty taps his chin. “Maybe you should ask both of them.”
Abby gives him the evil eye. “Behave, Matty.”
“What?” Matty puts on his signature faux-surprised look. “You’re lucky. You have, like, way more options than the rest of us.”
“I haven’t been feeling any of those options lately,” Abby grumbles.
“You need to hang out with Cameron less,” Matty says, pinching my cheek. “His cuteness is intimidating, so everybody’s afraid to ask you.”
“Matty!” I groan. I swat away his hand as heat spreads across my face.
“Just calling it like I see it,” Matty says matter-of-factly. “If Hugo doesn’t snatch you up quick, I might ask you out.”
“Stop it!” Abby scolds. “Now you’re just teasing him.”
“Hey, a guy can dream, can’t he?” Matty says. “Sometimes I think that if I try hard enough, I might start liking guys. It hasn’t happened yet, but I do have eyes, Cameron. You’re, like, totally hot.”
“Okay!” I blurt, my face burning, slapping my hands on the table. “That’s enough about me, my hotness, and anything related to Hugo. Next subject, please!”
Matty shrugs. “The football team is going to suck this year.”
***
After we’ve had our fill of nachos and soda and said goodbye to our friends, Abby and I head back to my house, weaving through the quiet town. She rides her longboard, kicking off slowly as I walk alongside her.
“You know,” Abby says, “even though Matty can be over the top, he’s not wrong. You’re a total catch, Cameron.”
“Ugh. I feel fat. I need to lay off the nachos.” I grab my love handles. They’ve hounded me my entire life.
“Stop it!” She stops moving, her eyes piercing into me. “You’re fine! You’re not skinny to the point of being unhealthy like an underwear model, but that’s a good thing. Okay?”
“Okay,” I groan. It’s starting to sink in. But the memories of bullies pushing me around and teasing me haven’t disappeared even after all her compliments. When I stare into the mirror, that pudgy twelve-year-old still looks back at me. My self-esteem is a work in progress.
“And Hugo will either like you for who you are or he’s not worth your time. End of story.”
“I still don’t even know if he likes guys,” I say.
“You check out his socials?”
“Of course. Couldn’t find anything. I don’t think he even has accounts.”
“Bummer,” Abby says. “Guess he’s a true loner.”
“Also, that was strange what Chloe said about Hugo, me, and the house being connected.”
Abby nods, eyebrows scrunched. “Yeah. No idea what that was about. But Chloe’s never wrong about anything.”
“But what does it mean?”
Abby shrugs.
“Okay. No more talk about Hugo. What about you?” I ask. “You really don’t have your eye on anybody?”
“You know me. I don’t get crushes.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “But let’s be honest, you’ve seemed a little distracted lately.”
“Have I?” She glances at me for a moment, then looks ahead. “A lot going on at school, I guess.”
“It started before school.”
Abby’s cheeks turn the subtlest shade of pink. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”
“Okay.” I don’t push it. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. Like she said, she doesn’t get crushes as easily as most kids do. She needs an emotional connection. It’s definitely not me she’s got her eye on. We’ve had that talk. Best friends and nothing else.
For the rest of the way home, we debate what movies to watch. It’s a welcome distraction, but my mind still drifts back to Chloe’s words. I’ve had enough of Crimson House to last a lifetime, and the idea that it’s tied up with Hugo and me somehow is disturbing. She’s never wrong.
As we near my home, I glance at the dark, ominous house across the street. It’s leering at me. A shadow moves across an upstairs window, and I suppress a shudder. Maybe it’s Hugo, maybe it’s not, and I’m not sure I want the answer.
10
Hidden Secrets: Hugo
The house is deathly silent save for the creaky floorboards as I wander the shadowed halls. The house feels strange. Not bad, just different. Lonely, but also welcoming in a strange way, almost as if it likes that it’s only the two of us here.
Ugh! Why am I personifying this house? It’s only a pile of wood and bricks. It’s only me wandering around with my thoughts. Nothing more.
The hours tick by as I work on my homework at the kitchen table. I’m almost caught up on trig, my worst subject, but I’m two chapters behind in lit. The Catcher in the Rye is an interesting book, but it’s not a page-turner, and it’s not the book I want to read in my current mood.
Frozen pizza for dinner. How exciting. I throw it in the oven and wait for the timer, scrolling through my phone. No new messages from anybody, and I have only myself to blame. I could be hanging out with Cameron, Taylor, and all their friends right now. Instead, I eat a few slices of pizza in utter silence, then wrap the leftovers in foil, toss them in the fridge, and head upstairs.
A light shines on the third-floor landing. Pa must have gone up there and forgotten to turn it off. The third floor creeps me out. Perhaps it’s the odd angles of the roof or the twisting hallway. I jump at every squeaky floorboard and glance twice at every shadowed corner.
Something has changed up here. Where there used to be a sawed-out hole, fresh floorboards now make a jigsaw-like pattern. Pa fixed the floor.
Did Pa clean up the blood before he repaired it—or the rust, or whatever it was? I’m almost certain he didn’t. That’s the kind of detail he would skip. The back of my neck prickles as I imagine the blood sitting under the floorboards forever, but it can’t be helped. Now it’s part of the house, for better or worse.
I look up from the hole and let out a shout. Every single door along the snaking hallway is open wide. Was it like that when I came up here? It must have been.
I follow the twists and turns, closing each door until I arrive at a single unopened one. I turn the knob, but the door doesn’t budge. Beneath the knob is an old-fashioned keyhole. Pa’s keychain doesn’t have any old keys like that, I’m sure of it. A peek through the hole reveals only darkness.
From behind the door comes a slight scraping sound, similar to the sound coming from the hole in the basement. My imagination goes wild, picturing the moving shadow on the other side. Stop it, Hugo. Stop! Fully creeped out, I race back to the safety of the second floor. Why is this house making me such a wimp?
Back in my dark bedroom, I see a glow emanating from a window across the street. With the lights still off, I peer out at it, an invisible observer. Cameron said he could see my house from his bedroom. It might be his room. I squint at the shapes moving through the window across the street. Then I actually see Cameron.
Oh crap.
I’ll have to be careful about keeping my drapes closed—or not. The thought makes my cheeks heat up.
He’s bobbing his head around and laughing with Abby, who’s there as well. An unexpected pang hits me in the chest.
I snap the drapes shut, trying to get that guy out of my mind, then head for my bed with The Catcher in the Rye in hand. What an exciting Friday. Maybe I can read a few pages before I nod off.
I don’t.
Two pages in, my eyelids are like lead. The next moment, I wake with my face resting on a wrinkled page and a puddle of drool soaking into the paper. A glance at my phone reveals that it’s 2:20 a.m. Wow, I guess I was tired.
A missed text shows on my phone from more than two hours ago.
Carla: Hey mano. Just checking in. How’s your Friday
I smile. At least my big sister remembers I’m alive, but I don’t want to bug her at this hour. Plus, I don’t want her to find out how lame my Friday was.
I hop out of bed to take a leak, glancing through the drapes on the way. Nothing but darkness in Cameron’s room. Guess he’s asleep, snuggled in bed, wrapped in a blanket. Wonder what he wears? Full-on pj’s, or only boxers or tighty-whities? Or nothing.
Man, what’s going on with me? It’s the third time I’ve thought about Cameron this evening; no matter how I distract myself, my mind drifts right back to him. Heading to the bathroom, I try to think of anything else: schoolwork, Pa’s house projects. It doesn’t work.
After I pee, I stare at my reflection over the sink. Other than a zit forming on my right cheek and my messy bedhead, I’m happy with the person looking back at me. My family has always been proud of our Mexican heritage—half Mexican, half Irish on Ma’s side—and despite the occasional asshole like Bryce Hunter, I like who I am and wouldn’t change it even if I could. What does Cameron think of me? Ugh! Fourth time.
The mirror over the sink has three little doors that fold out with a medicine cabinet behind them. Two of the mirrors hinge outward opposite each other, and if I hold them at the right angle, the double reflection gives me an idea of how people truly see me. It’s startling—a new perspective on a face I’ve seen almost every day of my life.
