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It’s too dark and I can’t make it out, but I’m also notblind.
My heart is hammering.
Bile rises to my throat.
I can’t breathe.
Figures dangle from the trees, their legs not touching the ground.
At every angle, this is all I see for miles.
Hanging bodies.
Hanging bodies looking down at me.
My eyes screw shut.
I want to throw up.
They’re not real. It’s a trick. It’s Hallowe’en.
In the distance, the Lochkelvin school song lifts itself into the air. My mind grabs hold of it.
I don’t remember the lyrics but I hum the melody beneath my breath. It sounds haunting beneath the canopy of the trees.
Back home, Hallowe’en was never like this. We’d be ushered round the local area, collecting candy in plastic pumpkins and wearing tacky costumes that had been made in China. Later, we’d feast on our chocolate fortunes and sleep sugar-high after such a fun evening.
Thisisn’t my idea of a fun evening.
As I pass through the trees with the hanging bodies, I hum the school song louder.
My eyes are shut. Something skims my shoulder. I jerk away from it, imagining it to be a foot, and end up getting stabbed by a branch.
Breathe.
When I glance back at the thick copse of trees, there are no hanging bodies. Not even shadows that look remotelylikehanging bodies.
I shake my head.
I’m seeing things.
I’m seeing horrible things.
I need to get myself under control.
But I push on deeper through the forest, stepping on leaves and twigs.
The sound echoes throughout the woods, but I can’t help it. It’s so dark, I can’t see where I’m walking.
“Okay, Jessa. To the left.” I follow the path that’s wrapped around my mind but my feet have other ideas.
I want to go to the left, to the loch, but my feet steer me further and further away.
And then I see —
Through the trees, the flicker of bright orange flame.
For a swooping beat, I wonder if the forest is on fire. But it’s not. It’sbeyondthe forest. It’s somewhere far away, where a single campfire can resemble a tiny orange bead.
