Hilltop House

Cora, Sixteen

Cora sat on her porch swing, a huge blanket around her shoulders, her legs curled up under her. She hadn't wanted to talk about this indoors. "Did you bring it?"

He stood down at the bottom of the hill, his cheeks rosy in the cold, his hair hovering before his eyes in a curtain he constantly pushed back. She knew he had every reason to be reticent, in some ways couldn't believe he'd actually come over.

"Are you going to come down here and talk to me?"

"Can you . . . come up?" But before he could respond she hurried to add, "No, no. You're right. I'll come down." She stepped carefully off the swing, looked toward the door, quietly reassured the house she'd be right back.

Brian watched from the sidewalk, unable to hear her but sure she was saying something. By the time the girl slid down the frosty little hill and met him, still wrapped in her blanket, Brian had begun to feel more worry than anger. He'd walked up the street in answer to her texts (after days of silence from her), determined to give her an attitude as chilly as the weather, but seeing her concerned him.

For a moment, Cora stood looking up at Brian, the gray, flurrying Sunday morning enveloping them like a death shroud. She felt awkward being away from the house, even if it was just a few yards, almost as if she was having some sort of withdrawal. She knew it'd perceive her actions with suspicion and just hoped it wouldn't do anything adverse.

"Thanks for coming," she said at last.

Brian continued to study her, frowning. "I don't really feel good about this."

Cora had expected some kind of pushback. She shifted her weight a bit. "I know."

"Why do you need it?"

"I can't . . . I can't really tell you. I mean, it's not that I can't, more that it wouldn't make a lot of sense to you."

He sighed, and Cora suddenly realized he looked tired, was haphazardly dressed, as if he hadn't been sleeping properly. "Cora--"

"I'm sorry, Brian," she beat him to it. She looked down at the ground. "I know I treated you really terribly by never responding to you." She took a deep breath, turned back to meet his eyes. "I don't know why I didn't. It's like, I feel . . . different inside there, in my house. This is going to sound so weird, but . . . I don't think it wanted me to talk to you. I think it's probably mad right now, even."

Brian furrowed his brow.

"I know it sounds crazy, all right? But you were sort of right, ok? My mom talked to Niecey, next door, and apparently someone used to live in my house, and she had a baby, but then she lost the baby somehow and she went crazy. So it'd make sense, right? That you saw a baby a long time ago? That there's definitely something up with my house?"

"Cora--"

"No, Brian, listen." She glanced at the house, lowered her voice and turned to face the street before saying, "I just think . . . something's coming. Something's going to happen. And I want to be ready, if that's possible. That's why I asked you for it, all right? I'll just feel better if I think I have some control over the situation."

Brian's breathing was growing heavier. He looked up at the entirely unassuming building, then turned back and said firmly to Cora, "I have no idea how this will help. You can't just knock yourself out and hope it goes away. What you actually need is to get out of there. I want you to come back with me. Come over and stay at my place for a while."

"Oh, no." Cora laughed a little unkindly. "That's not going to happen."

"Why? I won't--I'm saying it as a friend, not because of anything else."