Nightfall ✓

Chapter 10

"Sharon," I said quietly, "he doesn't like me back. He likes someone called Abigail." I rested my head on the couch and tried not to feel disappointed.

"Oh, shut up. When did he last tell you that he likes her?"

I thought for some time. "We had this party in October, and he invited Abigail, but she didn't come, and he was like, 'Well, there's nothing for me to do, then.' That was four months ago."

"Four months ago. He probably doesn't like her anymore."

"Why not? Why would he like me anyway? I'm not pretty. And I've seen her. She's much prettier than me."

"You know what?" she asked, falling back on the pillows on her bed. "Beauty doesn't matter all that much. The beauty that matters comes from the inside. If you talk about interesting things with him, and if he trusts you, and if he feels comfortable around you, then obviously he'll like you more. And if he likes you even a little bit, he's going to think you're pretty. The more he likes you, the prettier he'll think you are, because the people who love us always think we're beautiful, Hazel. I think you're beautiful, but a person who hates you is going to think that you're ugly. That's my opinion."

I thought about this for a moment, then I smiled slowly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I gotta go. Bye." She ended the call.

I closed the laptop and considered falling asleep right there, because my eyelids were drooping already, but then I thought about all the chocolate I'd just eaten and the cavities I would get, and I got up to brush my teeth. When I was done brushing, I stared at myself in the mirror for some time, looking at Ryan's locket. I wondered if I should take it off now that I liked someone else, but then decided against it, because we hadn't ended it in bad spirits or anything. We had ended our relationship because we both knew that long-distance couldn't work, and even though I liked Liam, I still felt something for Ryan, if that was even possible. We had had some good times, and the memories meant something to me, and I couldn't bring myself to take off his locket.

The bathroom door banged shut suddenly. I cried out and grabbed the knob, and tried to yank it open, but it didn't budge. "Who's there?" I shouted.

The lights flickered and went out. It suddenly got cold, colder than it could ever be in winters, and I screamed and started trembling. I pounded the door. "Open up!" But it was useless. I ran back. My hands moved about wildly on the counter, moving things around, searching desperately for the matchbox I always kept in every room. I found it, struck a match, and lit a candle. There were tiny beads of sweat on my forehead. I wiped them away, panting, and stared at my reflection again, my hands clutching the counter tightly.

I stared for a long time, gasping, trying to catch my breath. And it happened very quickly then: instead of my reflection, I saw someone else in the mirror standing in my place. It was the same woman that I'd seen in Liam's frontyard, dressed in that black gown, her hair flying about wildly. But something was different this time; she looked furious instead of pained.

It all lasted for a second. I stared at my reflection, then her angry face flashed momentarily, and then she vanished and I saw myself again, but it was enough to make me stumble backwards in fear. It was still cold, and I heard that whispery voice of hers—even though I couldn't see her—like the wind was whistling: How dare you not kill him?

"K-kill who?" I stammered before realization dawned on me. Suddenly I knew that she was talking about William, and that she was the one sending us those notes. My vision blurred with tears of fear. "W-Who's William?" I choked out through the thick lump in my throat. Then I saw her in the mirror again, but this time too, she vanished in a second. The candle went out. I panicked some more.