Mothman's Curse (16 page)

I looked right at the camera. “I think, if my mother were here right now…”

“Yes?”

“She'd kick your skinny little butt halfway to Cleveland for your terrible manners.”

I turned my back and stomped away, the lovely image of her shocked, fake-pretty face etched forever in my head.

Fear, worry, and anger all churned around inside me. I slipped into the house, soaking up the quiet after the chaos outside. The noise of the crowd was muffled enough that I could hear the refrigerator humming. The bathroom faucet dripped. Birds chirped and cheeped outside the window. I could almost pretend nothing was wrong until the pin pulsed like a heartbeat, still painfully cold.

“John?” I whispered, but he wasn't there. I even took the pin off and put it back on again.

Nothing.

I slumped at the kitchen table. My stomach rumbled. Lunchtime had long come and gone.

I called and ordered a couple of pizzas with Dad's credit card number, which we kept on a Post-it note inside the kitchen cupboard for emergencies. I decided that a Mothman sighting counted as an emergency.

Fox and Mason joined me a few minutes later. They sat down at the table without a word. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and a sleeve of crackers from the pantry. Even cursed people had to eat.

We sat munching in silence, staring with fascination at the crumbs we were leaving in the peanut butter jar. I focused on breathing in and out, in and out.

Eventually Aunt Barb and Uncle Bill shuffled in. They stood there in the kitchen like they'd never seen it before, like they were in the wrong house, the wrong life. I offered them a chair and told them pizza was on the way. Uncle Bill chose to stand, fussing with his hat. Aunt Barb stood, too, looking us over. “How are you all holding up?”

Nobody answered.

“That good, huh?” She flashed a tired smile. “Listen, we will solve this, all right? No silly bug man is going to get the better of us, you hear me?”

We nodded.

“Do you think he'll come back?” Mason whispered.

“I don't know, sugar.” She brushed a few stray cracker crumbs from Mason's face. “Seems to me he's a bully, though. All bluster. Hey, Mason, why don't you let me talk to your brother and sister for a minute, okay?” she said. “You want to watch some TV?” He nodded and trotted into the living room.

I wondered if it was time to come clean with everything we knew. From the look on his face, I guessed Fox was wondering the same thing.

Before I could decide, Mason bellowed, “Uncle Bill! You're on TV!”

We all rushed into the living room, where video footage of Mothman played over and over under the heading
Breaking News
. They cut to interviews with several of our customers and neighbors, and then Uncle Bill popped up on the screen.

“You look good, dear,” Aunt Barb said. “The gray in your hair—it's distinguished. Don't you think so, Josie?”

“Aunt Barb! I think all of this is insane—that's what I think. Don't you even want to know why Mothman is here, why he showed up at our auction? Maybe we should be worrying about that!”

She flinched. I felt awful for yelling. I knew she was doing the best she could, but I couldn't help wishing that Dad were here instead. Or Momma. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“No, I'm sorry, honey. You're right. Of course you're right. I'm just a little off-kilter right now. Ever since we took on that Goodrich estate, things have been so upside down.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes.

Uncle Bill slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Mason, turn that thing off, huh?”

Aunt Barb looked down at her rumpled clothes, patted her unruly hair. “I must look a fright. Will you three be all right if we take a few minutes to get cleaned up?”

“Sure,” I said. “We'll wait for the pizza.”

She and Uncle Bill headed out to their place over the garage.

Mason went to the front window. “What are all those people still doing out there?”

I moved the curtains aside to peer out at the cow pasture just beyond our property line. Seven more news trucks had joined the first two. Hundreds of people had set up lawn chairs, tents, and blankets, like they were waiting for a fireworks show.

Fox joined us at the window. “They want to catch a glimpse of Mothman. Be a part of history.”

“Who would
want
to see him?” Mason said.

“People who don't know any better,” Fox said.

Many of the bystanders carried signs or watched the sky, looking worried. But others acted like it was all a big party. Somebody had a grill fired up and was turning hot dogs as they sizzled. Others were slapping a beach ball as it skimmed over the heads of the gathered crowd.

Unbelievable.

“I'm going for a walk,” I said suddenly.

“Right now? Alone?” Fox said.

“I just need to clear my head. I won't be long.”

He glanced at Mason, who clung to Fox's sleeve with all ten fingers. “Just … be careful, okay?”

I nodded. Grabbing my coat, I left the house and started walking, heading away from the circus our lives had become. The afternoon sun shone down, surprisingly warm. I followed the road, sticking close to the shoulder, but there weren't many cars to avoid. They were all coming from town in the opposite direction, so I had the road pretty much to myself.

Until I felt a prickle on the back of my neck.

I looked over my shoulder to find John trailing me. My hand flew to my collar. I was still wearing the moth pin.

He kept about five feet between us. He wasn't walking, exactly. That is, his legs weren't moving, and he didn't really float, either. His image would just wink out, then wink back in the next second a few feet closer than before.

I sighed and kept walking. I could always take the pin off, but for all I knew he'd still be there, out of sight. For some reason, I found that even more unsettling. I turned around and walked backward so I could see him.

“Why'd you do it, John?” I asked out loud. “How could you take your own life? The letter from the lawyer said you had a terminal illness. Was that it? You got tired of being sick?”

He shook his head.
No
.

“Good. Because my mom was sick for a long time, and it was awful, but she still fought up until the end. So what was it? Were you trying to break the curse?”

A nod.
Yes
.

“Well, guess what? It didn't work. Do you realize what you've done to us?”

He hung his head. I rolled my eyes. I would
not
feel sorry for a ghost—no, sir.

Then he looked up. Purpose had replaced his usual sadness.
Save them
, he mouthed.

“Is that all we have to do to end the curse?” I said. “Then everything will be okay?”

He looked away.

I stopped walking. “John? Please, you have to help me figure this out.”

But he flickered and disappeared.

“John!” I turned in a slow circle, but there was no sign of him. I trudged back to the house, more confused and anxious than ever.

I found Fox and Mason still staring out the window, eating pizza. I could hear Aunt Barb on the phone, her voice climbing and falling like the cars on a roller coaster. At this rate she'd probably be on the phone for the rest of her life. I thought about Dad and how worried he must be if he'd seen the news. I vowed to call him, just to check in and let him know we were okay.

“What are you guys doing?”

“All those people,” Fox was saying. “Think of how many ghost maps we could sell. Or bottled water, even. We could make a fortune! Josie, you could print out some more of those maps, right?”

I glared at him. “Really? Is that all you can think about? No, I will not print any more of those stupid maps, you selfish, greedy
infant
.”

“Whoa, what's the problem?”

I dragged him into the kitchen, struggling to keep my voice at a whisper. “The
problem
, since you've obviously forgotten, is that in two days a whole bunch of people are going to die, and the freaking Mothman just showed up at our auction, and you want to sell bottled water like it's a sporting event! We have to figure out a way to keep people away from the Field House.”

“I wasn't being serious. Sheesh. I was trying to distract our little brother. Besides, I already thought of something,” he said, easy as you please.

“What? You mind sharing this brilliant idea with me?”

“Simple. We play Mothman—draw people's attention to the Field House and away from our front yard. We leave messages warning people about the disaster and make it seem like they're from Mothman. It'll make the news and people will listen because they're already waiting for his next move, practically begging for it.”

“What kind of messages? How do we fake something like that?”

“Spray paint.”

“That's illegal.”

“Do you want to save those people or not?”

I remained stubborn, not wanting to admit it was a pretty good idea. “And you just thought of this while you were plotting how to make money off those people?”

“Sure. We'll just have to iron out the details. What do you think, Josie? Think it'll work?”

It was a classic Fox move, deflecting anger by asking for my opinion, and dang if it didn't work every time. He looked nothing but totally sincere, and it was maddening.

“Fine. But we should focus on the university, right around the Field House. And we'll have to wait until after dark so we don't get caught. How do we get there? What do we tell Aunt Barb?”

Fox smiled. “Leave that to me.”

 

13

We put our plan into action that very night. It was simple—even kind of stupid, really.

Fox and I each stuffed a backpack with cans of red spray paint—auction leftovers that had been piling up in the garage for years. Fox even managed to squeeze in a roller brush and a collapsible extension pole.

Next we dug through the Halloween boxes and found two pairs of novelty goggles with red light-up eyes. Add some AA batteries and—presto—instant Mothman.

Step three was trickier: convincing Aunt Barb to let us out of the house after dark.

We started by pushing to reschedule the auction. It helped that Aunt Barb and Uncle Bill wanted the Goodrich stuff gone as soon as possible. Sunday and Monday were out of the question, since Fox and I had a disaster to stop and only two more days to do it. Plus Dad would hopefully be home Monday or Tuesday and would need time to settle in, so Wednesday seemed like the earliest reasonable day. We couldn't come right out and say that, though, so I printed up flyers advertising Wednesday as the new auction date and presented them to Uncle Bill. He looked them over and slowly nodded his approval, no doubt glad for one less thing to handle.

Since Mitch was still outside trying to get people to go home, Fox mentioned that maybe Mitch's time would be better spent dropping off the flyers at local businesses.

Uncle Bill seemed to like that idea, too. But Fox and I insisted that Mitch couldn't go out on an empty stomach, and shouldn't he stay for dinner?

Aunt Barb never passed up a chance to cook. She started pulling food from the fridge and pans from the cupboard to whip up her famous fried chicken.

The whole time she was cooking, Fox and I hung around the kitchen, getting in her way. When Barb put us to work coating chicken or peeling potatoes, we complained, and moped, and did such a sorry job that she banned us from her sight until dinnertime.

After we ate and Mitch was getting set to leave, Fox asked, “Can Josie and I ride along with him?”

“I don't know,” Aunt Barb said. “It's getting late.”

“But we're so boooooored,” Fox said.

“I guess we could stay to help clean up the kitchen,” I said.

Barb all but pushed us out the door. “No, no, I'll get Mason to help me. You two run along and help Mitch. You could probably use the break.”

Fox hid a sly smile.

So far, so good.

*   *   *

Once we were on the road, we started in on Mitch. After several stops around town, we had him convinced that Dad always put up flyers at Ohio University.

I nearly cheered when he pointed the car toward campus.

“Boy, that was some crazy day today,” Mitch said on the drive there, shaking his head. “The stuff that people believe.”

“What … uh, what do you mean?” Fox said.

“Well, you know. All those people thinking they saw Mothman.”

Fox and I exchanged confused glances.

“What did you see, Mitch?” I asked.

“Looked like some kind of endangered bird escaped from the zoo,” he said, scratching his head. “Don't know how it ended up in your auction house, though.”

Fox fake-chuckled. “You're right. That was crazy, wasn't it? Mothman.
Pffttt.
I guess people see what they want to see, don't they?”

“Darn straight.” Mitch parked in a lot across from the Field House, a high-traffic corner of the campus near the West Green residence halls. Stars dotted the night sky.

“Stay close, guys,” he said as we climbed out of the car. “This is a big place.”

“Maybe we should just wait here,” Fox said. “We don't want to slow you down.”

“Oh, no, I don't think that's such a good idea.”

Fox nudged me. “Josie told me she wasn't feeling well, right, Josie? She didn't want me to say anything, but…”

Mitch looked at me. “Is that true?”

I rubbed my stomach. “It's probably no big deal, just too much fried chicken.”

“Aw, maybe I should take you home, Josie.”

“No, don't do that. We're already here. I can just wait in the car. It'll be fine.”

“I'll stay with her,” Fox said. “We'll lock the doors. It's a well-lit parking lot, and there are people everywhere. And we have our cell phones.”