That’s when the corridor comes into view again, and a smile stretches across my face..
“I’ll be damned,” I whisper in awe. “An optical illusion.”
It’s just after nine, when I settle in for the evening and flip through my camera, whose battery is nearly dead. The first image that pops up has me frowning. It’s one of the dozen I took outside, not even an hour ago, of the crow. Only, the picture shows nothing but an empty railing.
Swiping through the remaining dozen shows more of the same.
What the hell?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempt a mental reboot, but when I open them again, the picture is still absent of the bird. Yet, I can still hear its caw, even now, outside.
Don’t get up, my head urges me.
Probably just the dying battery affecting the images.
From my backpack beside me, I tug the bag of sleeping pills from inside and dump four of them into my palm. Definitely not dealing with this crap tonight. Maybe once I leave this island, head out west and settle somewhere, I can get checked out for sleepwalking, or whatever these strange episodes are, where I’m certain I’ve seen something.
For now, I’m going to sleep it off and chalk it up to too many spooky articles at the library.
I reach into my bag again and pull out the folded picture of Russ’s family. Perhaps it’s slightly macabre, given Russ is dead and I’ve never met these people in my life, but I don’t care. For whatever reason, the photo brings me a sense of comfort, as if he’s here with me. Watching over me.
Staring at the smiling face of the little boy and his mother as the pills kick in, I fall into a peaceful calm.
15
Céleste
Heat radiates across my face, and I squint against the invading brightness. Lifting my arm to shield my eyes, I make a slow climb out of what must’ve been a dead sleep, as I have absolutely no recollection of any events of the night. Not even dreams.
Whispers reach my ear through the fog, and with a groan, I sit up from the sleeping bag and glance around. Bags of chips and an empty bottle of Coke lay on the ground beside me, and I lift one of them up, frowning.
I don’t remember chips. Or Coke.
“She’s awake!”
At the sound of the voice, I snap my attention toward the window in time to catch a flash of movement.
Shit.
Still groggy, I swipe up my pants and duck low, tiptoeing toward the window for a closer look and to get out of the line of view. Bits of broken wood and glass crunch below the soles of my feet, threatening to break the skin, but I step light, before pressing my back against the wall alongside the window.
Seconds later, three small crowns appear below, peeking over the window ledge. “She’s gone!” A little girl in the middle, with red curls, jumps to her feet and presses her nose to the only intact stretch of the busted window.
“Of course she’s gone, dummy, she’s a ghost! Dey go away in da mornin’.” The boy next to her pushes to his feet, too, peering in alongside her.
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, still keeping flat to the wall. All three of them must be no more than eight, or nine, years old. Of course, I’m terrible with ages.
And kids, for that matter.
“Did you see her underpants? Dey had pineapples on dem!”
The girl slaps the boy on the arm. “You don’ look at a girl’s underpants, stupid. It’s rude.”
“Guys, do you think the boogeyman got her?” The third child, a blond boy who’s kept quiet this whole time, finally pushes to his feet. “I heard … it was TonTon Macoute. Mamere said he whacked that family up wit’ a knife.”
The smile on my face fades for an unbidden memory.
The woods. Blood. Clacking of bones. The lemon floral scent.
“Dat’s gross. Maybe she’s dat ‘tite fille. Daddy says she ran away to da woods. Never came back. He said her name is Letiche, and she roams da woods lookin’ for kids to play wit’.”
It’s telling which families on this island still speak Valir, in the differing accents their children speak. It’s strong in some, weak in others.
“Well, my momma said she got kil’t ‘long with da rest. Chopped her up into tiny pieces and ate her brains. Dat’s what the boogeyman likes best. The brains and eyeballs ‘cause they’re squishiest. Like eating gummies,