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Now I’m on a mission, and no one is getting in my way. A fire has been lit. Once I start getting some answers, Harper better fill in the goddamn blanks. I will invoke the best friend card. If she wants to act like we are destined, then she better start acting like it.
As soon as I got in here, I scanned the bookshelves and began pulling whatever looked to be the oldest. What I need are origin stories. Family history. Anything that will help me understand this situation.
None of these older books have titles on the spines, so I don’t know what I am grabbing until it's in my hands. Some titles are simply boring, herbology nonsense. Others, I can't be sure what they mean. When I flip the pages, it's in a completely different language, which is no help at all. I’m about to throw another useless one to the side when a sound comes from above me. “This is the one you're looking for, stupid little girl.”
Merrick is standing in the air, like it's completely normal, and holding a book in his hand.
He can never know I’m secretly seriously impressed.
“Well, can you pass it to me, then?” I respond impatiently.
“Tsk, tsk. Where are your manners?”
He is enjoying this way too much, asshole.
I comply just to get him to go away. “Please, uncle dearest, may you pass that very informative book to me?” Finishing it with a smile.
His face doesn’t change from its cold expression when I drop the uncle bomb. That’s right, Merrick. This stupid little girl knows.
I can’t be more of a smartass out loud to him when he is holding what I need, though. Bastard.
A few moments pass before he moves, and he’s a complete dick head. Why can’t he be a decent dead person? He opens the hand the book is in and simply lets it drop. It’s like watching it in slow motion as I dive for it. The thing looks like it’s from the dawn of time. If it smashes into the hardwood floor, there is no telling what could happen. Break? Maybe turn into dust. It’s not worth the risk to not have to watch it fall to its death.
The pages are flapping on their descent; they look stained and extremely delicate. The binding is the same aged leather as the others with the curved spine. My efforts aren’t wasted and as it lands in my hand seconds before hitting the floor, I blow out a sigh of relief. Tilting my head up, I see he’s already gone.
Which is fine. He served his purpose.
Moving to the couch, I place the book in my lap. This is it. This is what is going to tell me everything I need to know about this creepy fucking town. Why my dad left and never returned. Why his brother drove off a bridge and why Harper wants me to talk to Joanie so badly about this property.
Rubbing my fingers over the stamped leather letters that spell the name of this miserable town, I summon the courage to open it. Ok, Port Canyon, show me what you got.
I flip the thick cover open and see everything is in handwritten ink. The pages feel like aged parchment. This book has to be at least a hundred years old.
The first line tells me it’s much older than I thought,
Port Canyon was founded in 1833 by a group of families who wanted to build their own society far away from others. They settled deep within the mountains and forests of Washington State, where no other colonizers could stumble upon them by accident. It took thirteen days for them to chop enough lumber to construct a bridge, then an additional thirty-one days to build it. The bridge is the only way in and out of Port Canyon.
The founding families cast a hex over Port Canyon for protection.
Instilling fear and ensuring unwanted guests would never make it to the end of the bridge.
Legend says it was the town that kept them out. No bodies would ever be found on the bridge. That the town would take them.
Outsiders would only interfere with their generational teachings.
These families valued their way of thinking. They valued their legacies.
Each role in the community was sacred to their individual bloodline. Only blood could take over from blood, inheriting the jobs from their elders. Once it was time for the torch to be passed down, a ceremony would take place. During the rise of the full moon, the next generation would have to draw enough blood from their elders to fill the silver goblet.
Blood for blood.
Every last drop of blood would be drunk by the next generation. Once the ceremony is complete, according to the legend, the legacy would be officially passed down. Although, if someone outside of the bloodline tried to drink the blood, the blood would know and kill them slowly and painfully.
If anyone from the families tried to abandon their responsibilities, the town would curse them. Some say they were riddled with disease if they disobeyed. Others say the town would let them escape, make them feel like they got away with it, then curse their children.
Bringing them back to uphold the bloodline.
The Founding Families
