Mothman's Curse (10 page)

I let my fingers hover over the pin, then scooped it up and wrapped both hands around it. The cold metal bit into my skin like a shard of ice. I held it for as long as I could stand it, the cold biting deeper, sharper, watching my features twist in the mirror as my hands took the abuse.

At last, with a quick yelp of pain, I dropped the pin. It bounced and rattled across the table. I watched, transfixed, as it traveled the entire surface before falling to the carpet with a muted thump. I thought about leaving it there; my hand still ached from holding it. But I didn't want anyone else to find it. Sighing, I crawled under the dressing table to retrieve it, a sleeve stretched over my palm to blunt the chill.

“Josie?”

I jumped. My head hit the underside of the table.

“Ouch!”

“Josie?” Fox's voice drifted through the door. “You in there?”

I slipped the pin into my pocket just as he peeked in. “Josie, hey, do you—what are you doing down there?”

“Nothing. I dropped something.” I crawled out, rubbing the tender spot on the back of my head. “What's up?”

“You heard about Dad, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated. “You still want to go see that hairdresser today? We could make it there and back on our bikes before dinner.”

“Okay. Maybe she'll be more helpful than Mitch was.”

“Mitch? What do you mean?”

I sank down on the edge of my bed. “Oh, nothing. I asked him about Mothman, and he practically laughed in my face.”

“Why did you do that, Josie? Of course he laughed.”

“It doesn't matter. He's not going to tell anyone. He thinks I'm just a stupid kid.”

Fox sat down beside me. “No, he doesn't. Some people just can't handle talking about supernatural stuff.”

“I'm pretty sure Aunt Barb's hairdresser isn't one of those people. Let's go.”

*   *   *

Mason was so disappointed about Dad not coming home that Aunt Barb had to bribe him with cookies and a few “new” broken electronics to keep him happy.

Fox assured Aunt Barb with a straight face that we were going to the library to catch up on homework. She even packed us a snack.

It was a three-mile ride, but we found the beauty salon easily enough. It was just down the street from the Supercuts where Dad always took us.

As we locked up our bikes, Fox said, “If she's here, she'll be working. She can't just take time off to answer a bunch of questions. You have to get her to cut your hair. She'll talk the whole time.”

I clutched my twin braids. “I don't know, Fox.” When Momma was sick and lost her hair, I cut mine short so she wouldn't feel so bad. She'd caught me with scissors in hand and a pile of my hair in the bathroom sink. We cried, and then we laughed, and for a little while it seemed like everything might be okay. When she died, it took me a year to start letting it grow out again. It took another two years to get it this long, and I was too ashamed to admit that I liked the way it looked, a rich wheat color, thick and shiny. I liked how I could toss it casually over my shoulder, flash a smile, and pretend for a moment that I was as confident as Fox.

“C'mon, Josie. You don't have to get it chopped off; just get a trim.” He gave me his hurt puppy look. “Pleeease? It's for the greater good.”

I peeked through the window at the prices posted on the wall. “It will take the last of our money. A haircut here is twenty-two dollars plus tip.”

“Aunt Barb will pay us back. Just tell her you've been needing one but it got overlooked, so to take some of the burden off her you went on ahead and took care of it. One less thing for her to worry about.”

“You're evil.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Why don't you do it? You'd do a better job asking questions anyway.”

“I just got a haircut two weeks ago. It's perfect just like it is.”

“You look like a politician.”

He checked his reflection in the storefront glass, his face hopeful. “Really?”

“Oh, forget it. I'll do it.”

We marched inside.

A woman looked up from behind the register and smiled broadly. She must have been my grandma's age, but she was the prettiest, most stylish grandma I'd ever seen. She had high cheekbones and perfectly arched eyebrows. Her black hair was piled high on her head, her lips painted a glossy pink. “
Kumusta ka
, my beautiful children! How is your poor father?” She tsked. “Such a terrible accident, and in such a place, too.”

We stopped short. “You know us?” I said.

“Of course! Your auntie shows me your photographs every time she comes in. I am Eva.” She approached with arms wide and engulfed us both in a huge hug. “Thank the good Lord your father is on the mend. What brings you to my shop today, all on your own? Where is your auntie?”

“She's at home with our little brother. I've been wanting a trim, so…”

“Of course! The girl is becoming more a woman every day! Let Eva have a look.”

Fox smirked as he chose a magazine and settled into one of the orange plastic chairs by the front window.

“It's good that you caught me. It's been so slow today I was going to close early. I let the other girls go home already.” She sat me down and let out my braids. She finger-combed my tousled hair. “Mm, it is a little dry. This will not help to catch a handsome young man someday.”

I felt a blush creep up my ears. Up front I saw Fox hide a mocking grin behind his
National Geographic
.

“We will deep condition, clean up these split ends, perhaps add some layers to frame that pretty face of yours.” She fussed and chatted as she washed my hair and worked about a gallon of conditioner through it. Once I was rinsed and in the chair, she asked again about our dad, and I knew it was the best opening I could hope for.

“He has to stay at the hospital for a few more days. You know, we were with him when it happened, Fox and me.”

She gasped. “I didn't know. My poor dears. Some things were not meant for children's eyes. Why would your father take you to such a place?” As she combed the tangles from my wet hair, her movements grew rougher, more vigorous. I clenched my teeth to keep from yelping in pain.

“We were helping get ready for the auction this weekend. It was a pretty house, not scary like we pictured.”

“Yes. Such a beautiful house. Mmm. But beauty is not everything.”

“Eva?”

“Yes, child?”

“Is it true that you worked at the Goodrich place?”

The comb paused. “Your aunt has been talking too much again, I suppose.”

“Um…” I suddenly wondered if it was such a good idea to get her upset when she would soon have a pair of scissors in her hand.

She grunted. “Yes. I worked there. Before the tragedy
and
after.” She made the sign of the cross with her free hand. “Mr. Goodrich was forever changed. He was a cheerful, kind man. But losing his wife, his town—it would change anyone. He withdrew, spoke rarely. But after dark he would talk to Nora, late into the night.”

“Talk to … his dead wife?”

She traded the comb for scissors and started snipping, her expert fingers in constant motion. “Yes. It brought him peace, although his talks would sometimes grow angry, accusing.”

I lost all interest in watching pieces of my hair fall to the floor. “Did … did she talk back?”

She laughed. “No, child.”

“Because she wasn't really there. Right?”

She didn't answer.

“Eva?”

At last she spoke, her voice low and intense. “Talk of spirits is best left alone, Josephina. I have forgotten myself. Just be thankful your father will recover.”

Apparently that was all she wanted to say.

I had to up the stakes, make the conversation impossible for her to resist. But how much to tell her? Like with Aunt Barb, a secret would not stay secret long with Eva, I was sure.

I plunged ahead. “Could a spirit make my dad fall down the stairs?”

She slammed the scissors down on the counter and crossed herself once more. “Such questions!”

“I have to know. Did other bad things happen in the house? Is that why you quit?”

“I did not quit, child. I was let go—for this very reason, no less!” She picked up the scissors again and pointed them at me.

“For…?”

“Not knowing how to keep private affairs
private
.”

“Oh.”

She worked in silence for the next few minutes. I gave up hope of finding out anything more and kept my gaze on my lap, but once our eyes met in the mirror, she seemed to sigh and come to a decision.

She leaned in close to my ear. “Plenty of bad things happened in that house. Perhaps you deserve to know the truth. Perhaps then you will know enough to stay far away from it.”

I nodded, quickly rearranging my expression from eager to solemn, trying not to draw attention to the fact that Fox had moved closer so he wouldn't miss a word.

“Mrs. Goodrich was once a mild person, very quiet and content. Several years before the landslide, she became obsessed with disasters. She kept newspaper clippings about them. She was often fearful and unhappy. Then, about a year before the landslide, she got much worse. People thought her mind was beginning to unravel.”

Eva paused to plug in the hair dryer. We had little time left to talk. I spoke up to speed things along. “Why would they think that, Eva?”

“She would fly into a rage over the smallest things, or cry for hours on end. She would stir up trouble in town, trying to warn people that they were in danger. But they would not listen. She grew more and more upset, raving about the bridge disaster in Point Pleasant. John tried to help but did not know how.”

I thought about the scrapbook Fox had found, every page filled with disaster stories. “Point Pleasant, huh? Isn't that where all those Mothman sightings were reported?”

The scissors clattered to the floor. It took a minute or two for her to retrieve them, plunk them into a glass jar of sterilizer, and choose a new pair. “You are a smart young woman, Josephina. Smart enough to know better than to open up this can of worms, as they say.”

I kept pushing. “So you've heard of Mothman, then?”

“Of course.”

“Some people say you've seen him.”

She grew still. Her gaze flickered to the shop window. She stared at a traffic signal, its single red eye flashing. “I never saw him in the house,” she whispered. “But sometimes at the windows. Only glimpses here and there, but yes.”

“What about in the town?”

“People spoke of him in the months before the landslide. A few saw him outright; most dismissed it as fantasy.”

Fox and I stared at each other.

“Do you know where Mothman came from? Why he was there?”

“It started with a piece of jewelry. Nora had a half sister in Point Pleasant who died in the bridge accident. Months later, she received a package from the sister's estate with jewelry and other personal effects.”

“How do you know it was the jewelry?”

“There was one piece in particular with a most unusual design: a gold pin with a moth preserved under glass.” In the mirror I watched the color drain from my face. My grip tightened on the arms of the chair.

Eva didn't notice. “Mrs. Goodrich believed that pin was the origin of Mothman, dating back a hundred years or more. Stories tell of a man who dealt in dark magic to preserve his own life, and to punish a lost love.” The scissors stilled. She leaned in close. “And it is said,” she whispered, “that the pin brings a curse upon the person who possesses it.”

 

8

Suddenly I couldn't breathe, as if a hand had closed around my throat and started to squeeze.

“Goodness, are you all right?”

I couldn't speak, so I nodded instead, but she didn't believe me.

Eva's voice became steel. “Fox! Fox Fletcher!”

He yelped and dropped his magazine.

“You come here this instant! I know you are listening.”

Fox stood and inched closer, but stayed several paces out of arm's reach.

“Why so many questions? You would allow your younger sister to pursue evil such as this?”

I found enough breath to clear up an important point. “I'm—actually, I'm older—”

“Something is wrong with her. Do you see her face?”

His eyebrows drew together as he studied me. “Yeah, I do. Josie?”

I shook my head at him, signaling him to ease off, but Eva's tirade continued. “What are you up to? The both of you?” Fox actually shrank back as she started up a lecture in her native language. I couldn't be sure, but a lot of it sounded like curse words.

“Have you seen the pin?” she demanded.

“N-no,” I lied. “But if someone did find it, couldn't they just throw it away?”