Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,26

and I saw something high among the trees. A light.

Probably just the moon. Or a planet.

I knew it wasn’t a planet, though. It was bigger than a planet, and lower. But, obviously, I was hallucinating.

Astrid took my hand and pulled me down the path, but I knew I had to come back. Tomorrow. I had to find out what it was.

When we got to the car, Astrid tried to get me to sit in the back, with her on my lap, but I offered to drive. “I think we’re the only ones that aren’t wasted, right?” I said to Josh.

Astrid pouted, but Josh handed me his keys.

“Are you sure?” she said, taking the seat behind me.

“Lot of crazy people out on New Year’s. Kids get killed all the time.” I also wanted to make sure I knew the way back here. “Besides, I’d rather be alone with you, not in a car full of people.”

“I understand.” But then, she leaned forward and kissed my ear.

“I have to turn this thing around. It’s hard with the trees.”

I somehow managed to do a three-point turn in the middle of a forest, and drove a long way toward the road. When I finally reached the main route, I looked at the name of the street I’d turned off of. Dickinson. I wondered who Dickinson was, some founding father of this crap town, or was it someone loftier, like the poet? Josh said to turn right, which was south, so I knew the cabin was even farther north. Then, I saw a sign that said Grouse Lake, and I remembered that was what Josh had said the name of the lake was.

Astrid lived closest to town, so I dropped her off last, except for Josh. She made me get out of the car. “So, are we going skiing tomorrow?” She giggled. “I mean, today?”

I thought fast. “I might be a little, um, tired.”

“But we’re going, right?” Her voice had an edge like an ice-skate blade.

“Oh, absolutely. Just, maybe, tomorrow.”

“You’ll call me? Or I could call you?”

“My cell doesn’t work up here. Let me get your number. I’ll call you from Mrs. G’s landline.”

We exchanged numbers, and Astrid went inside. I dropped Josh off next, promising to bring the car back the next day. “Hey, your hinges are in too,” he said.

When I got to the house, the path was covered with a fresh dusting of snow. I’d have to shovel it again. I fumbled for the key, and as I did, I heard a sound in the distant north. Singing. But that was impossible.

Maybe I was crazy.

But if I was, I might as well find out.

Even though it was after two in the morning, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, listening to the wind outside. It howled like a lost soul. I wished I’d brought my television from home. Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, I turned it on and it lulled me into a coma. I could go downstairs and watch. Maybe Mrs. Greenwood was even up, watching Star Trek. Instead, I watched the digital clock turn from 2:21 to 2:22. Tyler and Nikki had had a superstition about praying at 11:11 at night. I didn’t know about 2:22.

2:23.

2:24.

I heard something downstairs, a key in the lock. I swam through the swampy waters of what had almost been sleep. Who was here? What was that sound? But it couldn’t be a key in the lock. There was no one here but me and the old lady, and she’d probably been asleep for hours. I glanced at the clock. 2:49. I’d been asleep, likely dreaming.

Now that I had slept, I couldn’t go back. It was like I’d slept a full night.

I felt something hard under my head. The diary. It had been days since I’d read it. I was lucky Mrs. Greenwood hadn’t noticed it. Though I’d told her I would do my own laundry, she insisted she’d do it and informed me that the beds were changed Monday.

It was Monday today.

I didn’t know why I didn’t want Mrs. Greenwood to know about Danielle’s diary. Originally, it was because of the way she’d scared me that first night. Now, it was because I didn’t want to remind her, as if she needed reminding. Or, maybe, I didn’t want to give her hope when there was none. Still, I wanted to finish the diary. In these early lonely days, Danielle had become something like a friend.

Too bad she was probably a dead one.

I didn’t hear