Part 19 (1/2)
My eyes widened. ”I don't want to go back there.”
”Ditto,” Ada piped up.
He gave us a small smile. ”I don't either. But I can do it if you girls want to stay in the house. By yourselves.”
Ada and I exchanged a glance. What was the better option here?
”The flames are almost out,” he whispered, and nodded at the candles. The black one was burned down to a puddle of wax that spilled over the holder and onto the counter. The white one was close. I was thankful he had bought such stubby candles. The kitchen clock said we had fifteen minutes left, and our only saving grace was that my mom said she would text me a warning and my phone hadn't vibrated yet.
The black candle went out with a small snuff of onyx smoke and a minute later the white one did too.
”OK,” I said, straightening up off the stove I was leaning on. ”Time to bury these-”
As I said that both candles suddenly relit themselves with a crackling poof, even though there wasn't any wick left in them.
”Uh,” Ada said. We all eyed each other, unsure of what to do.
”We'll just wait,” Maximus said uncertainly. He protectively put his arms out behind him, s.h.i.+elding Ada and me, or maybe just keeping us in our place. ”They have to burn out on their own.”
We were glued to the flames as they continued their dance in the cold air. The buzz of my phone vibrating caused us all to jump and me to gasp. With trembling fingers, I brought it out of my pocket and looked at the message. It was my mother.
”Those flames better burn out in the next ten minutes,” I warned them.
”Those flames shouldn't be burning at all,” Maximus said.
I leaned forward, edging away from his arm, and peered down at the candles. They were a puddle of mush, and through the translucent wax and flame I could see the metal of the bottom of the holder itself. The wax itself was on fire. How was that possible?
All at once a terrible BOOM filled the house. It sounded like the front door had slammed open.
I screamed.
The lights around us turned off.
The flames went out.
We were plunged into darkness.
Ada made a whimpering noise.
Then a ROAR and rustle from the living room and my eyes picked up a trace of glowing light out in the hallway. Morbidly curious, we left the blackened kitchen, moving together like a unit of one, and cautiously stepped out into the hall. The front door was wide open, the salt in front of it dancing as if caught up in an invisible wind, one that we couldn't feel. The salt floated and fell, then was swept along the hardwood floors of the hall like an ethereal trail, past our feet, and made a right turn into the living room, where the glow originated.
We followed it and I wasn't surprised to see that in the living room, the fireplace was going full blast, a roaring, crackling inferno. At first it looked like someone was standing in front of the fire, a black silhouette gazing down at the flames, his back to us. But it was only a trick of the eye because I blinked hard and there was no one there.
”Who lit the fire?” Ada asked. In her skinny frame she looked like she was about to keel over in fright.
”Or what?” I added, which didn't help. She swayed slightly and leaned against the doorframe.
”There's...something in it,” Maximus said, his eyes squinting in concentration. He began taking long strides across the Persian rug.
”Be careful,” I called out warily.
He paused in front of the flames, staring down at it for a few moments, looking very much like the image I had just seen before. Almost exactly the same. Was I experiencing some form of pre-cognition now?
He grabbed the poker to the right of him and gently jabbed it into the heart of the fiery beast.
Ada and I watched him inquisitively as he pulled the poker away and turned around to face us. At the end of the poker, speared like a flapping fish, was a rectangular piece of paper.
He walked over to us slowly, staring down at it with an expression of growing alarm.
”What is it?” I asked.
He carefully pulled the paper, which was charred, smoking and torn all around the edges, off the pointed end and flipped it around to show us.
It was a photograph.
Not just any photograph. The last family portrait we had done, about three years ago. Though discolored from the flames, you could clearly see my mother and father standing behind the sitting room couch, Ada and I sitting down in front of them, our legs crossed politely, smiling attentively. It was a happy, cheery photo.
Well, it had been.
Our eyes were scratched out and replaced with clean black circles.
I s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Maximus's hand, feeling sick to my stomach, a terrible knot of dread and dead b.u.t.terflies.
A hush of heavy silence fell on us as we took in what it meant.
Was it a threat? A warning? A sign?
And who, what, sent it?
I opened my mouth to ask those things when a giant whoosh of wind came down the fireplace, putting out the flames in one go, smothering us in darkness again, and whipped the photo out of my hand.
Then the slow, menacing creak of the front door.
And...
A string of explicit Swedish swear words followed by, ”What on earth?”
My parents were home. I could hear Ada gulp beside me.
”Perry, Ada?” my dad called out from around the corner.
”What is this stuff? Why is it so dark in here?” my mom cried. I could imagine her face crumpled at the sight of salt scattered everywhere.
Suddenly the lights in the hallway went on. We heard the click of the kitchen light next, and then they both made some sort of gasping moan together.
There was now enough light in the living room to see each other. I couldn't see the photograph around me and had no idea where it had been blown away to, but I supposed it wouldn't have made much of a difference if my parents found it. They were already losing their minds over the voodoo-like mess in the kitchen.