The Sisters of Nowhere

t h r e e : h a l

When Wyatt imagined his Uncle Hal's house, he pictured a rundown farmhouse with chipped white paint, glowing yellow lights shining through cracked windows, and a barn out back with chickens squawking across the yard.

It turned out that he was exactly right.

Wyatt hiked his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder and took a few steps closer to the house, avoiding the curious chickens pecking at his shoes.

He clenched his thumb and pointer finger together, which was his only tell that said he was nervous.

Marigold, the girl who'd driven him here, had given him little comfort at the prospects of his new life.

She'd explained the clearing and the ghosts, which was fortunate, considering Hal lived right on the border of it.

Outside the fence, just a few yards away, was a vast field. It was too dark to see much else besides the silhouette of the Appalachians in the distance and a blanket of fog that seemed to be isolated in the clearing alone.

Though Wyatt couldn't see any ghosts, there was static in the air, like invisible energy.

Marigold had spoken as if it was all perfectly normal, which in turn made Wyatt feel perfectly out of place.

Wyatt Best was not used to feeling out of place. It was something different, he decided, and he would deal with it accordingly.

Maybe Hal had some books on the history of Nowhere or something else he could use to educate himself.

For the present, though, he was without an uncle, which seemed like a bigger problem than anything he'd encountered so far.

"Hello?" he called, but his cheerful greeting was only replied to by the coo of chickens.

Wyatt's sneakers crunched against the gravel of the driveway, then creaked up the porch steps as he made his way up. Curiously, there were no lights in the cracked windows.

"It's Wyatt Best," Wyatt called after knocking twice on the door.

When there was still no response, he sighed in frustration. Had Hal not received the letter telling him when Wyatt was coming?

Deciding to cut his losses, Wyatt turned the golden knob and pushed it open. Unnaturally cold air spilled through, chilling his legs as he stepped inside.

The only lights on inside the house was one in the kitchen, but it flickered on and off.

Someone needs to change out these lightbulbs, he thought.

It seemed like the house creaked every time Wyatt breathed too hard, so he listened closely.

Upstairs, he heard what he thought was a rocking chair careening back and forth.

"Hal?" Wyatt called.

He decided that Hal must've suffered from a hearing disability, so he trekked up the stairs and marched down the hall, making as much noise as possible so as not to scare the man.

Faint light leaked from beneath one of the several doors in the poorly wallpapered hall.

Wyatt didn't bother to knock on his door, but when he opened it, he almost vomited.

The smell coming out of the room was disgusting, like rotten eggs mixed with gasoline.

Wyatt's eyes were beginning to water. He'd never smelled anything so pungent before.