Life has a way of shaking you up once you get too comfortable, that's about the only certain thing about being alive. Apparently, I'd been extra comfortable lately, because life decided the only way to balance the scales was to burn down the house I'd lived in for all fourteen years of my life.
The only things I had left were my mom, my cat, my phone, and the clothes I'd been wearing when we'd escaped the blaze. Oh, and the old '97 Honda Accord that was currently carrying us down the country road of upstate South Carolina toward our temporary refuge.
The drive from Greenville had been under an hour, but the yawning chasm of uncertainty that had become my life since the fire made it seem a lot longer. I'd stopped trying to press Mom for information after the sixth or seventh "I don't know" had been accompanied by the glisten of tears at the edges of her eyes.
I'd spent most of the drive with my forehead against the window, earbuds dampening the road noise with melodic comfort of retrowave filling me with nostalgia for a time I hadn't even been alive for. Weird taste, I know. Sue me.
Knowing we were getting close, I reached for my phone, turned off the music, and plucked out my earbuds, sighing heavily as I stuffed them in my pocket.
"We're almost there, baby," said Mom.
"I know," I replied. There was more of an edge to my voice than I'd intended. Mom looked at me briefly. I didn't look back.
"You're still mad at me," she said flatly.
I hesitated. I was, but part of me didn't want to bring it up again. Mom had a lot on her plate already. I heaved another sigh.
"Well, yeah. You don't believe me," I said.
It was Mom's turn to hesitate. She was choosing her words carefully.
"Annie..."
"Ann," I corrected.
Mom's nickname for me had set me up for orphan jokes my whole life. I'd been trying to do some damage control since it got especially bad in middle school.
"Ann," she began again, sounding exasperated. "There's just... no way someone was in the house. There would have been some kind of evidence."
"You mean a body? I know. But he was there, Mom. I saw him in my window. You should have told the cops. He was probably the one that did it."
"Alright, Ann," Mom sighed. That meant the conversation was done.
I sucked my teeth and leaned my head against the headrest. See, on the night of the fire, as we were watching our house burn down amidst a horde of nosy neighbors, I'd seen something that had been fresh in my mind ever since. There had been a tall man standing in my window, framed by the devastating flames. He stood out for how sickly white his skin was while everything else around him was alive with shades of yellow and orange. The light didn't play across his features as it should have. It was like he was immune to the environment.
If that wasn't freaky enough, I could tell he was looking right at me. He was too far away for me to make out the details, but I could feel the malice rolling toward me in thick, depthless waves. I'd tried to get my mom's attention to point out the creep, but as soon as I'd shaken her out of the horrified stupor caused by the state of the house, he was gone. And of course, no one believed the kid. Just like a horror movie. I just hoped that was where the similarities ended.
I watched as the buildings and houses became more sparse the farther down the highway we went until the road was lined with trees innumerable and not much else. My cat lay sprawled across my lap, her black fur soaking up the October sun through the windshield. If it wasn't for the occasional rise and fall of her chest, you'd think she was dead.
Hecate, or Cate as my toddler self had dubbed her, was so old that it was a bit of shock that she wasn't dead. She'd been around since before I was born but she didn't look or act her age. I was grateful now more than ever for the familiarity of her warmth and the feeling of her soft fur beneath my fingers-- one of the few things of my old world that hadn't been reduced to ashes.
It had been about two minutes since we left the highway. Trees had encroached on the exit so heavily that if you didn't know it was there, you'd have missed it entirely. In the few times I'd been down this way, I'd never once seen another person use it. As soon as you made the exit, the road was a straightaway for about three miles. No turns. No stoplights. No buildings. Just acres and acres of, you guessed it, trees.
At about the one mile mark from the highway, I mentally braced myself for what I knew was coming. My ears popped painfully, making me clench my jaw for a second as the throb quickly subsided. I don't know why it happened. There weren't any big changes in elevation as far as I could tell. But it always happened, sure as anything, and always in the same spot.
Cate must have felt it too, because her green eyes snapped open and she lifted her head and peered at me accusingly, the tip of her tail giving an annoyed twitch.
"I didn't do it," I murmured, using one finger to scratch between her ears. Appeased, she put her head back down and went right back to sleep, her body thrumming with a contented purr.
Mom slowed the car as we went around a sharp bend in the road. There was a green sign held up on metal posts as soon as we rounded the bend. "Welcome to Mistwood" it said in blocky, unattractive lettering. There was usually a population number underneath the text, but it looked like someone had obliterated it with four slashes of a knife. How reassuring.
Roads began to intermittently branch off the main one as we got closer to the town. The line of trees was occasionally broken by sprawling lawns and houses. I turned my head to look down the road that shared my last name - Shepherd Lane - trying to catch a glimpse of my grandpa's impressive plantation-style mansion.
An army of ancient oak trees, invigorated by all the summer rain, lined the road and blocked the house from sight as I knew they would. I wondered if I'd get to see Grandpa today. He was one of my most favorite people on the planet and thinking of the warmth in his voice and gentle smile just made me all the more irritable at the thought of who we were here to stay with.
I only called her Abuela out loud because Mom insisted on it. In my head, she was just Ophelia. Aloof, chilly, severe Ophelia. Grandpa had offered us the chance to stay with him while our house was being rebuilt, but Ophelia had stepped in at the last moment to stamp out the little bit of joy I would've gotten out of the situation by bullying Mom into staying with her. It was very rare that Mom could muster up the ability to say no to her, even though she'd made it very clear she didn't care for me (or children in general). Let's just say the feeling was mutual.
Just when you'd gotten used to the idea that Mistwood was just a town of trees and the odd house, it pulled a fast one on you. The trees suddenly became few and far between, replaced by a bustling town that seemed to spring up out of nowhere. If it weren't for the modern cars and dress of the townsfolk, you might be fooled into thinking you'd just meandered into a time anomaly that had taken you back to the 1930s.
All of the buildings were that old or older, all brick, and all in pristine condition inside and out. You'd be hard-pressed to find a dilapidated building here. The townsfolk took a great amount of pride in their home and were a close-knit bunch, evidenced by the way nearly every one of them stopped what they were doing to gawk at us as we cruised by.
Like the ear-popping, this happened every time we came here and it never failed to send prickles down the back of my neck. I hadn't noticed it much as a kid, but whenever we came down here for holidays the past few years, it'd struck me just how odd it was.
Speaking of odd, the whole town had a feeling about it I couldn't quite put my finger on. Not quite unsettling, but definitely off. Like some sort of buzz or vibration you were only aware of at the fringes of your senses, but once you noticed it and tried to make sense of it, it was gone. I'd given it a name a couple of years ago: The Mistwood Hum.
I started out meeting the gaze of every person close enough to the road, mustering up every ounce of cold defiance I could. Some of them looked back at me with curiosity, others with caution, and a select few with something like contempt. We hadn't even made it halfway through the town when the weight of their gazes made my resolve bow and I had to look away, stroking Cate as an outlet for the anxiety that had welled up within me.
I hated being looked at. I know it sounds odd, but all my life I'd been near invisible. Just a background object no one really paid attention to. Too quiet to draw much attention, and too cold once it was given to me that it discouraged further interaction. I liked it that way. I liked the security and predictability of my inner world. I liked the freedom of being nobody memorable, safe from scrutiny and obligations and expectations. I was a ghost. But not here. Suddenly, I couldn't wait to get into the privacy of Ophelia's house.
"Why do they always stare?" I grumbled.
"You know why. They're just not used to outsiders," answered Mom.
"Wow! Wonder why that is. Could it be no one wants to come here because they'll get looked at like they just stepped out of a UFO, grew a second head, and then kicked someone's puppy?"
Mom's lips twitched in a brief smile.
"This town's history is... complicated. Don't worry, baby. The novelty will wear off soon. Maybe you'll make some friends."
"I can't wait," I said dryly.
"You'd be surprised. I know this town. The people here are more your speed."
"If you're trying to say I'm creepy too, then I guess that's fair."
"I meant they're more laid back," said Mom, rolling her eyes.
"I don't know, Mom. Laidback people don't usually look at newcomers like they just interrupted a secret cult meeting, but keep championing that narrative, I guess."
Minutes later, we had cleared the town and headed off into another stretch of fields and trees until we turned off the main road and came upon a mercifully less populated neighborhood. I found the courage to look out the window again at the street lined with Victorians and American Foursquare, immaculate yards accented with towering shade trees and colorful flower beds.
It was a neighborhood that was the definition of the American dream. A few of the neighborhood's inhabitants were outside, some sitting on rocking chairs on their porches, others out doing yard work, and a teenaged boy was throwing a ball for his golden retriever. It was perfect. Until they, too, stopped to stare at us.
My heart started to thump harder. We passed two kids who looked like they were close to my age as they walked down the sidewalk. It was a tall boy and a short, round girl, their dark features similar enough to surmise that they were related. I expected them to stop too, but they only spared me a casual glance as they went on their way, talking and laughing with each other. They seemed... well, normal. That was weird for Mistwood.
We pulled into the driveway of a gray Victorian with white trim at the end of the cul-de-sac. There were two cars already in the driveway. Ophelia's white sedan and a bright red muscle car I didn't recognize. The house had the biggest yard of all of them and was backed up to where the forest took over again and stretched almost as far as the eye could see, even when you were viewing it from the height of the house's attic window.
I sighed and clipped Cate's black leash to her bright turquoise harness. Yeah, my cat was leash trained. It was one of my greatest life accomplishments and had cost Mom a small fortune in cat treats and wet cat food. Knowing that meant we were about to get moving, Cate woke and stood up on my lap with a yawn and lazy stretch.
"Remember your manners," said Mom as she started to get out of the car, flashing me a look that she probably meant to be stern but just came across pleading.
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, opening the car door.
Cate immediately leaped out with her usual lithe grace, showing no indication of residual grogginess from her long nap. I moved slowly, hesitantly, savoring the last moments I wouldn't be living under Ophelia's roof. Mom had already started toward the front door when a low growl caught my attention. I looked down at the source of the noise.
Cate was staring up at the house, pupils dilated, tail lashing the air. I'd never seen her react that way to a house or a building of any kind. Not even the vet's office. Logic told me it was all the commotion and big changes that'd happened over the past few days that was making her behave strangely. My intuition told me that there was something more to it, and that thought gave me chills.
I followed her gaze toward the house. It looked normal from all outside appearances, but like the rest of the town, there was just a certain something about it. It was like being a kid in a swimming pool after watching Jaws. The pool was supposed to be safe. A closed environment, cut off from all other bodies of water. There was no way a shark could end up in the pool without some pretty spectacular help, but still-- there was that little niggle of fear in the back of your mind. The big "what if". What if, beyond all reason and laws of the universe, a shark had suddenly appeared in the pool and was coming up behind you to take a bite?
"Ann, are you coming?" called Mom from the front door.
I was snapped back to reality. It was just a house. Mistwood was just a town. My cat was just being silly. I was just the friendliest, most outgoing person on the Earth.
"Come on, Cate," I said as I started forward. She didn't move until the leash ran out of slack and even then she moved low to the ground with hesitant steps, peering around with as much apprehension as I felt. Mom opened the door as soon as I joined her and stepped inside.
"Mamá?" she called into the cavernous house.
I slipped in behind her and walked a few paces into the foyer while she ventured farther into the house. A sitting room and a dining room were on either side of the foyer. I paused at the junction, taking in the smells and decor of the house. It didn't smell like old people like you might expect from a grandparent's house. It smelled like whatever fabric softener she used with the subtle remnants of garlic and cilantro from a recently cooked meal.
The furniture wasn't what you'd expect to see in a Victorian, either. Ophelia was a minimalist and also a bit of a neat freak. All the rooms I could see were orderly and decorated in shades of grey with little pops of color here and there, with the odd house plant occupying an otherwise bare shelf or tabletop. The place reminded me of a doctor's office. It even had strategically placed stacks of magazines for when you were stuck in a room with Ophelia and needed a distraction from her silently radiating disdain.
The decor didn't subtract from the eerie feeling in the house, though. I'm sure part of it was that it was older, creakier, and bigger than our house, with more places for things to hide, even if those things were all in my head. When we'd stayed here in the past, I'd always done my best to avoid getting up at night for anything, even if it meant I spent the whole night lying awake because I had to pee. This house always gave me the inexplicable sense that I was going to see something I didn't want to see. I missed the cozy security of our small home.
In the distance, I heard Ophelia's gruff voice respond to Mom's summons. Just as I was about to go join them, Cate let out a hiss and a dark shape caught the corner of my eye at the doorway to the sitting room. Before I had time to react, the form lurched out of the sitting room and grabbed hold of me. I let out a little yelp, which was all I could do as I was taken captive.
Swimming pool kid, meet the shark.