6. Camryn

SIX

CAMRYN

"You changed your mind?" Gwen's eyes bug out.

I called this emergency meeting at the café after school, and now we're seated on the couches at the back while the summer rain spatters on the window to our left. You'd think the rain would bring with it cooler temperatures, but no. Even the rain is warm.

"You were right all along," I reply, sinking deeper into the couch, unable to meet anyone's gaze. "Weird things happen in that house."

Gwen stares at me for a beat, but Benny lights up on the armchair. "I knew it. Tell us everything."

"Just…things."

"Things?"

I slowly nod, as the lady behind the counter bags up a slice of blueberry pie for an elderly customer. "It's hard to explain."

Without sounding crazy.

"So why did you change your mind?" Gwen asks, holding up a finger when Benny opens his mouth to talk. "Why do you want to do a séance now?"

"I guess I want…to find out if it's real or all in my head."

Gwen's gaze softens. "We'll get to the bottom of it."

"I still think it's a bad idea," Lily says on Gwen's other side, shaking her head.

"Thought you said you don't believe in the paranormal," Aron teases as he stands up and digs his wallet out of his back pocket.

"I don't, Aron." Lily rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "I can still disagree with it."

Aron pulls out cash, puts his wallet back in his pocket, and smirks. "Sounds to me like you believe in it."

As he moves to the counter, Lily sticks out her tongue at his back. Brittany returns from the bathroom and slides between Gwen and me, forcing us to shift to the side to make room. "What did I miss?"

"Séance at Camryn's house this weekend," Benny chirps, slouched on the couch with his ankles crossed and his brown hair sticking out from beneath his black cap that's halfway down his forehead. "Let's summon the demon."

Lily sits up straight with a worried look, her gray eyes bouncing between us. "Please tell me we're not summoning this…thing."

"I'm starting to believe Aron is right," Benny drawls in a bored tone. "You do believe in demons and ghosts."

Lily glares at him.

"You don't have to come," Gwen says reassuringly. "We don't want you to be uncomfortable."

They bicker while I let my distracted thoughts drift. Maybe Lily was right that we're better off leaving it alone.

Was there even an it ?

For all I know, I've suffered a heatstroke or, worse, a mental breakdown and imagined things that weren't there, but it seemed so real.

Sulfur still lingers on my tongue when the memory of his voice caressing my ears invades my mind, and icy chills race down my spine. Yesterday, instinct told me to run and not look back, and I listened. Do I really want to try to communicate with it? Whatever "it" is.

"So?" Aron asks as he returns with a slice of blueberry pie in a paper napkin. "Are we doing the séance or not?"

Gwen's smile grows impossibly wide. "We're doing it."

"Sweet!" He collapses in the armchair. "Looks like we're summoning a demon."

My insides coil as I watch him unfold the paper napkin and take a bite. "Maybe it's not such a good idea?—"

"Thank you!" Lily exclaims. "Finally, some common sense."

Across from us, Aron speaks around a mouthful. "Ignore Miss Uptight here. It's an excellent idea—probably the best idea anyone has had all year."

Benny holds out his hand for a fist bump, and they touch knuckles.

"I'm sure you've noticed that it's not exactly a big town. Nothing exciting ever happens here."

"I don't know—" I start, but something catches my eye by the entrance—an elderly man with scraggly, silver hair, weathered skin, and a long beard.

He's staring straight at me as the bell above the door jangles, and a couple enters, briefly hiding him from view.

"Who's that?" I ask.

Gwen follows my line of sight. "That's Wilfred Miller. Your neighbor."

"Why is he staring at me?"

It unnerves me that he won't look away, those beady, grey eyes boring into me from across the café.

Aron crumples up the paper napkin, and then tosses it onto the table. "Don't worry about him. He's weird but harmless."

"Weird, how?"

"Like I said, this is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. Wilfred, on the other hand, lives alone and never talks to anyone."

"Lives alone? I ask. "I thought he had a son."

Lily frowns, but before she can add to the conversation, Aron replies, "No, it's just him. No close family."

"I've never seen him in here before," Brittany murmurs with unease in her tone.

"He hardly ever leaves his farm." Aron shrugs. "You're lucky if you see him in town once a month."

"I wish he wouldn't stare." I break eye contact and look out the window at the heavy rain bouncing off the cracked pavement.

"You're new in town," Gwen says, as if that explains everything. "You stand out."

Aron finishes off his blueberry pie while the others fall into conversation. My attention soon drifts back to the door, but the man is gone.

The steps unfold in front of me to reveal the gaping hole in the ceiling. I stare up at the attic when a cold draft, which should be welcoming in this heat, raises the hairs on my arms.

According to Gwen, we need an item that used to belong to one of the missing victims for the séance.

While I know it's a bad idea to dabble with the occult, I want to learn more about this place and the family members who supposedly went missing.

With that thought in mind, I suppress a shiver and retrieve the flashlight from my back pocket. When it fails to work, I smack it on my palm. It flickers but stays on. I place it between my teeth and then take hold of the creaky steps as I start to climb. My head pops through the hole, and I scan the dark space before me.

Cobwebs hang like ghostly lace in the corners of the room, and a thick layer of dust blankets every surface, untouched and forgotten.

I grab the flashlight and sweep it around the attic to reveal piled crates, one with a creepy, broken porcelain doll perched against it.

Beside the crates, a circular window barely lets any light in through the grimy, weathered glass.

I place the flashlight down and heave myself up before gazing through the hole. From up here, it looks like a long fall.

My attention is diverted when something crashes to the floor, and I scramble for the flashlight. Why are attics always cold and creepy?

I raise the flashlight and gulp.

Bats. Lots and lots of bats hang from the ceiling, asleep.

"Just great," I mutter, focusing the flashlight on a group of boxes stacked in the corner. One of them, which is made of cardboard, sags, and its contents threaten to spill out.

I climb to my feet, careful to duck so I don't disturb the sleeping bats as I step closer. The doll seems to watch me out of the corner of my eye, and the floorboards creak beneath my weight as I pause near a book beside the boxes. Crouching down, I trail my fingers over the curled, water-damaged pages before closing the book to read the title. "Devil-Worship in France, or the Question of Lucifer," I read out loud before shining the flashlight across the room. The chilling sensation of beady eyes watching me from the shadows crawls over my skin, but a sweep of the light reveals nothing except an old coat rack in the corner.

I'm unable to shake the uneasy feeling, so I scan the room again. When nothing jumps out at me, I turn back to look through the boxes but pause as the beam catches on the doll, which is now directly in front of me, propped up against the crates.

I scream and fall back onto my ass, scrambling away as the soles of my shoes slip against the dusty floorboards. My heart races, threatening to escape my chest. I direct the flashlight to the space where the doll was when I first entered the attic, but it's gone. Cold sweat dampens my neck as the flashlight trembles violently in my grip.

Slowly, I let my gaze drift back to the doll, and the tremble worsens until the light flickers.

Behind me, another crash disturbs the silence, and a rat scurries across the floor, while I let out another terrified scream. Silence settles like a heavy blanket over the room, disturbed only by the whistle of the afternoon breeze outside. The flashlight flickers, so I smack it against the palm of my hand. "Work, dammit."

Now is not a good time to freak out. Not up here with the bats and the rats. Don't get me started on the porcelain doll.

I crawl forward again, never letting my eyes move from the doll. A mop of brown, matted hair that hasn't seen a comb in decades stands in all directions, and a crack runs through its pale cheek. Its dark eyes watch me approach.

Unease twists my insides the closer I get.

Ignoring the voice in my head that warns me this is a bad idea, I pick up the doll and catch a whiff of its musty blue dress. The lace trimming at the neckline has yellowed with time, and one of the shoulder-length sleeves is ripped.

"Creepy," I mumble, then nearly jump out of my skin when Mom's voice drifts through the gap from downstairs.

"Camryn, are you up there? I heard screaming."

"Shit…" I crawl over to the opening and poke my head through. Mom stands with her arms crossed and an alarmed look on her face.

"Hi, Mom."

The expression morphs into one that's far less impressed. "What were you doing up in the attic? This is an old house. It might not be safe."

"Sorry. I was curious." After sliding the flashlight into my back pocket, I climb back down. The moment my foot touches the ground, Mom points a finger at the doll in my hand. "What is that?"

I hold it up. "A doll."

"Looks like something straight out of a horror movie. Why would you bring it down here?"

Good question. I needed something for the séance, and since I didn't have time to root through the boxes, the doll would have to make do. Mom pulls a face, then turns on her heel.

"Wait," I call out, folding the steps back into place and shutting the hatch to the attic.

Mom turns around, and I catch up.

"Did you visit Wilfred yet?"

"No, not yet. I need a gift basket."

"I wouldn't bother." A shiver that has nothing to do with the doll in my hand or the ghoulish-looking attic raises the hairs on my arms.

Mom's eyebrows knit together. "Why not? It's the polite thing to do."

"My friends from school tell me he is a loner who doesn't like people."

"All the more reason to visit him."

"Just…be careful." I kiss Mom on the cheek and return to my room. Once the door is shut, I place the doll on the dresser, staring at it as if I expect it to do something, like move or talk. When it doesn't, I back up until my calves connect with the bed.

Plopping down, I blow out a long breath. The doll stares at me, and I stare at it. I've never known silence to be so thick or so…charged.

The door flies open, and my insufferable stepbrother barges in, barely sparing a glance at the doll. "Where did you go after classes finished?"

"I met up with my friends."

He snorts. "You don't have friends."

"Is it so difficult to believe things are different here?"

As always, he sucks out the oxygen in the air when he peruses my room. I try not to stare, but keeping my eyes off his broad back is impossible, especially when he looks out the window at the trees beyond before spinning around and pinning me with his dark, blazing eyes.

"I waited for you."

"You told me to take the bus."

His jaw clenches, and with his next step, the floorboards creak beneath the sheer force of his weight. I still don't know what he wants when he used to ignore my existence. Is he suffering the ill effects of the intense heat, too, or is he unnerved because I'm no longer a wallflower? The rules have changed, and he's unsure of where I fit on his board.

At least, with the contempt in his gaze, he seems himself, unlike yesterday when I locked him out. I still don't trust that he won't flip.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask as he approaches me, one slow step at a time.

His muscles ripple while his eyes dare me to challenge him. Instead of answering, he hovers over me, his hair falling over his brow. He slides his hands into his pockets, as if to hold himself back. And then he says in a low but threatening tone, "I'm driving you home tomorrow, so I expect you to wait for me after class."

"And what if I don't?" I ask, out of sheer curiosity. Some morbid and unwelcome part of me hopes to push him that little bit further.

"You don't want me to embarrass you in front of your new friends, right?" His lips tilt in a sinful smirk, the kind of smirk that makes my breath catch and my nipples harden. "I wouldn't mind taking your precious Aron down a notch or two."

I rise to my feet, my nails digging into my palms. "Stay away from my friends."

"Little sister," he drawls, sliding his hand out of his pocket to pull a strand of my hair. "Why so tense?" The humor in his voice is undeniable. I stand my ground, refusing to be the one to look away first. He won't win this time, and I refuse to let him intimidate me anymore.

"Why do you hate me so much?" I ask.

He visibly tenses as the humor dulls in his eyes, replaced by raw fury. For the first time, I'm scared of Dominic and the darkness in his eyes. It chills me to the bone.

"You know why," he sneers, his voice deadly calm. "You're the reason my dad is gone."

"I didn't have anything to do with it. The crash wasn't my fault?—"

Dominic is in my face so fast I fall back onto the bed. He grabs me by my top and hauls me off the mattress until I feel his hot breath against my lips. "Save your lies for someone who believes you." His head cocks to the side, and he says, "Like your mom." Then he drops me and storms out, leaving me to tremble on the bed with my heart thundering and my thoughts whirling.