“You know, it’s the funniest thing . . . I really can’t remember. I feel like it’s always been here with me.”
“It’s so pretty,” Abby said, shifting to the side before sliding her cell phone out of her jeans pocket. “Could I take a picture of it?”
Lucy took the frame back from Dan and then propped it up with both hands, displaying it proudly while Abby snapped a photo with her phone. Brilliant thinking, Abby.
“What makes you call it that?” Dan asked, maybe a bit too eagerly. “‘Bright burning star.’ That’s, uh, a very specific way of describing it.”
“I suppose so. . . .” She looked down at the picture again. “It’s not even really shaped like a star, is it?” Laughing, she turned the frame this way and that, as if she could make the stone in the photograph catch the light. “I’ve just . . . always called it that. I was so afraid. . . .” Putting the frame back on the table, she turned again to Dan. He squirmed under the intensity of her gaze. “I was afraid of you, Daniel Crawford. I was afraid of everything. . . . Then the bright burning star came and it was all better. All calmer.”
“Oh,” Dan said, looking helplessly to Abby, who stared back, just as dumbfounded. He couldn’t make eye contact with Lucy; it unnerved him—the blank, unwavering stare. . . . He looked over her shoulder at the window, jolted by a face glaring back at him from outside.
It wasn’t a human face, not really, but a mask. Red and black, like a skull but melting, the mouth gaping down in an exaggerated clown’s pout.
“What the . . .” Dan stood up, pointing at the window.
“I see it, too,” Jordan exclaimed. But then it was gone, disappearing into the hedgerow, leaving behind nothing but a few rattling branches.
“Hey!” Dan darted for the door, Jordan fast on his heels. He tore open the locks on the door and tumbled out onto the stoop in time to see someone sprinting over the lawn and the sidewalk, then disappearing across the street.
“We’ll never catch up,” Jordan said, “but you weren’t imagining things, it was definitely there.”
“A mask.” He tried to catch his breath. “And a red cloak.”
“What the hell is going on around here?” Jordan mused aloud.
Behind them, Dan heard the locks on Lucy’s door jingling as the door opened and Abby joined them on the stoop, tugging on her mittens. She turned and gave her aunt a hug. “I’ll try to stop by and see you again before we go,” she said.
“Be good,” Lucy said, although with the way she was watching Dan as she said it, it felt more like advice for him.
“Thanks for having us,” Dan muttered nervously. “Sorry for bolting like that.”
Lucy waved him off, half-hidden behind the open door. She closed it with a sigh, and Dan heard one lock after another snap into place.
“I wish we could have asked her more questions,” Dan said. “About the addresses, about that picture. . . . Did she say anything when we ran out?”
“No, she froze up,” Abby replied sadly. “I don’t know if it was because you startled her or the mask did.”
“What do we even make of all that?” Jordan asked as they reached the sidewalk and turned left. “I mean, she was not herself. Or maybe she was herself, but just the self she would have been before what happened to her as a kid.”
“I’m worried.” Eyes distant, gazing away from both of them, Abby hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms with her mittens. “How would Felix know about that necklace in the picture? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I think the more pressing issue is that we’re now being followed by masked weirdos,” Jordan pointed out.
“We have to start somewhere,” Abby said. “Maybe we should check those letters we found for mentions of the burning star thing. Everything we’ve collected, we need to cross-reference for anything even remotely similar. It’s the only real lead we have right now.”
Dan nodded, debating whether to tell them about his dream. He knew, obviously, that he had been the warden again and that he was standing in 1020 Ellis. What he didn’t know was whether that exchange was real or just his overactive imagination. It felt authentic, but even so, what had he really learned? That the warden knew someone who lived in the house, someone named Harry? That Harry saw the warden for treatment? Those two things didn’t necessarily seem relevant.
If they became relevant, he decided, then he would open up. Until then he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was dreaming as Warden Crawford.
“I want to know who’s following us,” he said. Jordan and Abby stopped walking.
“It is Halloween,” Abby replied. “It could’ve been some neighborhood kid being nosy.”
“Hang on,” Dan said, his eye catching on something silvery white in the grass. “I think whoever was watching us dropped something.” He trotted over to the edge of the yard, crouching down to find a postcard with a photograph, similar to the one Felix had handed him at Morthwaite.
“What is it?” Abby murmured, appearing at his side.
“I think it’s the carnival,” Dan said, standing slowly. He showed the picture around while still studying it himself. Jordan plucked the photograph out of his hand and flipped it over.
“Nothing on the back this time,” he pointed out.
“It’s just a tent,” Abby said. “Wait, there’s a little sign. See there? On the post next to it . . .”
Dan had to squint to read the faded print. “‘Old Maudire’s Prison of the Mind—Hypnotist Extraordinaire.’” An empty birdcage hung next to the tent’s tall, narrow opening, through which he could make out a sketchy imprint of a man’s silhouette, two dark pinpricks where his eyes would be.
“Think they dropped it accidentally?” Abby asked.
“Does anything around here happen accidentally?” Dan countered. “We were given the first photos intentionally, so I have to assume this is intentional, too.”
“I’m with Dan on this one. We heard footsteps in the house last night, and someone was outside calling Dan’s name. . . . Someone is following us. Stalking us.” As if to illustrate, Jordan cast a wary glance around them, paying particular attention to the bushes.
“Let’s hope it’s just one someone,” Dan said darkly.
He slipped the photo of the tent into his pocket and tapped his fingers over it through the fabric.
They continued down the sidewalk together, silent until Jordan coughed and shook his head, flinging it around like a wet dog. “Oh my God, those cookies were prehistoric,” he said, wrenching the coffee out of Dan’s hand and tossing it back. “Ahh. Much better.”
Dan’s pocket buzzed. He fumbled for his phone, letting Jordan keep the coffee.
“I guess those letters will have to wait, you guys. It’s Micah,” he said, feeling a stone sink in his gut. “He says Professor Reyes canceled her senior seminar for the afternoon. He wants me to meet them outside his class right now.”
Even flanked by Abby and Jordan, Dan felt every single one of his hackles raise at the sight of Professor Reyes.
“It’s good to see you back on campus,” she said, much too enthusiastically, in Dan’s opinion. Micah was there next to her, looking over a paper she’d handed back during the class period. The rest of the class trickled out from the open double doors behind them. But while her students filed by, Professor Reyes only had eyes for Dan, watching him intently as he tried to keep eye contact without flinching.
To the left, the rolling lawn of the academic quad was dotted with students chatting in groups and maintenance workers raking up leaves. Through a gap in the admissions building and the world affairs center, Dan could see the bright stripes of a few carnival tents.
“After what happened over the summer,” she continued softly, “I wondered . . . Well, I’m just happy to see you again. You were such a bright student, so easy to teach. I was hoping you might visit outside the program.”
She wore her same dark, dramatic clothing and funky jewelry, including six or eight different
necklaces and a handful of bangles decorating her wrists. Dan glanced over her necklaces, half expecting or maybe hoping to see one just like in Lucy’s photo. But some of her necklaces were tucked into her sweater and Dan didn’t exactly feel it was appropriate to ask to see them.
“Just couldn’t stay away, I guess.”
“That’s not surprising in the least,” she said, laughing.
Dan’s brow lifted in curiosity.
“We have a promising, energetic student body,” Professor Reyes clarified. “So it’s not surprising you would be drawn back here. Like attracts like. I only hope that little incident yesterday didn’t sour you on us.”
“Incident?”
“Yes . . . That poor boy . . .”
“Doug,” Micah said absently, still glancing over his paper.
“Yes! That was his name. Doug. Such a shame about him.” Professor Reyes hung her head and clucked her tongue. She was wearing so much of a woody, spicy perfume that it made Dan’s nose itch.
“Little incident” didn’t quite seem like the right way to describe someone making a dash for an open window, but Dan held his tongue. He had this weird suspicion that Professor Reyes was specifically trying to get to him, and he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing it was working.
“Next year the focus of my First-Year Initiative seminar is on college life and stress. I’m trying to set up a mental health seminar, too, but funding for those things is always tight. I’ll just have to keep my fingers crossed we get a few donations at the carnival tonight,” she continued. “If you choose New Hampshire College, maybe I’ll see you in my FYI seminar. Right up your alley, if I’m remembering correctly—history of psychology, right?”
“Yeah,” Dan said. “That’s . . . that’s what I want to focus on.”
“No pressure, of course, no pressure,” Professor Reyes said with a hearty laugh. She leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “But really, you should apply.”
Dan shifted, uncomfortable. “It’s, uh, it’s definitely on my list,” he finally said.
“Good!” She leaned away from him. “I was hoping you would say that.”
A professor Dan didn’t recognize—a tall, thin man with bottle-thick glasses—strolled by. He gave Professor Reyes a wary smile and nodded toward her, but she didn’t return the gesture.
“Well, it’s a disappointment Doug won’t get to see the carnival—he was one of our biggest helpers. You’ll be attending the festivities, I hope? They were quite an effort to coordinate.”
“I didn’t know you were so involved with it,” Dan replied tightly.
She made an open-palmed gesture, leading his eye directly to the row of tents at the edge of the academic green. Trucks from local vendors were there off-loading supplies; Dan recognized the names of the local sandwich shop, city sewage, and a Camford florist. “We all did our part to bring a little colorful town history back to life.”
“Professor.” Micah put up his hand, as if class were still in session. “Could you tell me what this note says? You flagged my citation but I can’t read what it says.”
“Let’s discuss this in my office,” Professor Reyes said, trying to usher him away.
“Oh, hey! Dan, one second, buddy.” Micah beckoned him closer with a quick wave. “I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay after last night.”
Dan nodded, assuming the vagueness of the question was due to Professor Reyes standing right there.
“Yeah,” he said. Now wasn’t the time to bring up Cal’s strange behavior that morning. “We’re fine, thanks.”
“That’s a relief,” Micah said, pretending to wipe away sweat from his brow.
“Wild college antics?” Professor Reyes asked. She glanced quickly between the two boys.
“Only responsible antics,” Micah replied. “You know me.”
“My office, then?” Professor Reyes said. She turned to Micah, and Dan took the opportunity to slip away, dragging Abby and Jordan with him.
“Ew,” Jordan said as they detoured to a picnic table on the quad, one tucked under a tall, barren tree. The sun had come out, making it just warm enough to linger outside. “Am I the only one getting a god-awful Dolores Umbridge vibe off of her? Her office isn’t pink and full of cats, is it?”
“You have no idea,” Dan said, sitting. “Her class over the summer was fine, I guess, but then she said this thing when I was leaving, and . . .” He watched the professor disappear into the psychology and sociology building with Micah. “Anyway, I don’t trust her. I can’t believe she’s actually still digging around in Brookline.”
“I totally believe it.” Jordan snorted. “Some people just can’t leave well enough alone. Take us, for example.”
“That’s not at all the same thing,” Dan replied.
“Here,” Abby said, plopping her book bag on the picnic table. “I’ve got our map, the files Jordan collected, and letters we took last night. We need to start looking for connections, for anything mentioning the star.” She turned to Jordan with a frown. “Can you think of anything we’ve seen here so far that could even be connected? Posters? Books? Anything at all with stars?”
“Not on my end. Cal’s room is mostly rugby jerseys and J.Crew catalogs,” Jordan said with a shrug. “But I can take a closer look when I’m there next. . . . Not a happy thought.”
“What are we going to do about that?” Dan asked as Abby passed around stacks of papers for them to look through. “About Cal’s staring problem, I mean.”
“I can’t say anything,” Jordan said. “If he’s possessed or something, then I don’t want to flip some murder switch.”
“I have a few letters from last night, too,” Dan said, pulling them out of his coat pocket. The top two were nothing special, bills mostly, but he hesitated over the third envelope. His eyes landed on the yellowed stamp and postmark in the corner.
“Look at this date,” he said, squinting at the old ink. “This is from the last year the warden was at Brookline, I’m sure of it.”
“Open it up,” Abby said eagerly. “Or wait, is it a felony to open mail if it was stolen or never delivered in the first place?”
“Who cares,” Jordan said. “The seal is already broken and I doubt anyone is looking for it. Go ahead, Dan.”
They each dove into their respective piles. Dan scanned the letter. It was addressed to an Anna Surridge from a Caroline Martin.
“This letter never left town,” he pointed out. “Check out the return address—I think we passed Tamlen Street on the way back to the party last night.”
The contents of the letter started innocently enough—a date, “Dear Anna,” hopes that the recipient was well, so on and so forth. But the casual tone quickly dropped away.
“Whoa,” Dan breathed, “listen to this: ‘My dearest Anna, I promised I would never reveal this to anyone, but I can no longer live in this damning silence. I fear I have made a grave mistake, though I made it in good faith, with the hopes of bringing myself and the family a brighter future. A man approached me in September, cloaked all in red. You can imagine I was frightened and confused at first, but when he handed me an envelope and the wax seal was also scarlet, stamped with the image of a skull—’”
“Hang on,” Jordan interrupted, dropping the newspaper he had been reading. “Red cloak? Red skull? That sounds like our Peeping Tom from this morning.”
“There’s more,” Dan said, reading quickly now. “‘My suspicions were correct. I should never have started writing that idiotic article! But my own research hardly touched on the truth. What I thought would be simply a scholastic society of like-minded men and women pursuing knowledge and success proved to be a morass of secrets too dark to tell here. To join, I was forced to reveal every skeleton in my closet, every deed I regretted or committed in shame. Mutually assured destruction is the key to their power. But that, dearest Anna, was only the beginning. Each week I saw more ugliness, watched my fellow Scarlets being taken into
back rooms only to later emerge with hollow eyes and slack mouths. I knew it was only a matter of time before they took me, too. And when they did . . . I would say I recall the memories in horror, but I do not recall them at all. I will write more if I can, and I dearly want to. I want to tell you all of it, every last detail, name every name, but already I’ve risked too much. I’ve been in touch with a man named Harry, who says he knows all about the Scarlets and their secrets. He claims he wants to help me, and I hope I can put my trust in him. It would be nice to have an ally. I want to publish an article exposing these people, but Harry thinks it would only put me in greater danger. Now I pray this letter arrives safely and my betrayal, however insignificant, is never discovered. Love, Caroline.’”
Dan gazed down at the paper, watching the neat letters blur together until they were just thick black lines on the page. None of them spoke for a long while, and then Dan blinked and folded up the letter, handing it across the table to Abby so she could get a look.
“We might have stumbled on something completely unrelated,” she said, scanning the page, “but I don’t think we can rule out a connection.”
“I don’t think so either,” Jordan agreed. “Feels like way more than a coincidence—the warden’s last year at Brookline, Felix’s map leading us to that house, and now that letter. It never left town. Somebody read it, too. The envelope was open.”
“I had a dream about this,” Dan said. He shrank preemptively from their curious looks. “I mean, that’s not proof or anything, but I saw the warden speaking to someone named Harry, almost like . . . assigning him a task. Someone was stalking her,” Dan murmured, but then a worse thought occurred. “Maybe even stealing her mail . . . She mentions wanting to write an article here. If she was in town, maybe it’s in the archives you found in the library.”
“You’re right, that’s not proof, but really, why rule anything out at this point?” Abby paused. “I wonder if that article would have been in the local paper or the school’s,” she said. “Either way, there should be copies of all the back issues. We can probably even run a search on her name with some keywords.”