Of the Trees Read online

  Overactive imagination. It had always been her downfall. That was one of the first things she and Laney had really bonded over: seeing spooks and goblins in darkened corners and scaring each other with ghost stories and midnight games of Bloody Mary during sleepovers.

  “Hey, honey, how was babysitting?” her father called as soon as she walked through the front door. His voice carried down the short hall that led to the back of the house and the kitchen. Cassie heard the crinkle of fast food bags and knew that he was probably taking advantage of her mother’s absence to sneak in some junk food. The lasagna that her mother wanted thawed was probably lying cold in the fridge. Cassie didn’t care. She’d grab some food at the carnival anyway.

  “Okay,” Cassie called back, kicking off her boots. To her left, the living room sat empty and dark, the last of the sunset streaking the sky through the bay window. There was a pile of laundry waiting for her on the stairs directly in front of her, and she scooped up the armful before starting up the steps. “You’re taking me to the carnival, right?”

  “Huh?” her father grunted back, and Cassie rolled her eyes, catching a pair of rolled up socks with her chin before they fell off the top of the pile. Her father, Patrick Harris, was the most forgetful person she knew. Her mom had a system of constant sticky notes and running text messages to remind him of things, but nothing ever seemed to stick.

  “The carnival, remember?” Cassie shouted from her open bedroom door. She threw the folded clothes on her unmade bed and stripped off her sweatpants. Her jeans had been shed on her floor, around the other side of the bed. She bent to get them, pulling them on before changing shirts. She didn’t mind babysitting, it was good for some cash, but she could never stand the smell of the baby formula that somehow always got splashed all over her. “Laney is already there, she’ll drive me home.”

  “Right, of course,” he answered through an obviously full mouth. “Ready when you are.”

  Cassie took a moment and gave herself a once over in the mirror. She pulled a brush through her auburn hair, and then yanked it up at the last moment, not sure if she was going to go on any rides, but putting it up, out of the way, just in case. Ryan usually dragged her on some ride or another, knocking into her as the ancient rides bounced over the trampled ground.

  Something small flared into life at the thought, and she looked at the picture she had jammed into her mirror frame. Her, Laney, Ryan, and Jon at the end-of-year party their school always had. Laney had given her phone to a passing student, and they had snapped it quickly, really before any of them were ready. Jon was looking the other way, and Laney hadn’t even sat back down. But Cassie was laughing, her eyes locked with Ryan’s. He was grinning back at her, his gaze soft. When Cassie had first seen the picture, she had been struck by that look.

  She had never noticed Ryan staring at her like that before. Cassie hadn’t said anything to Laney, even when her friend questioned her for wanting a copy of the picture.

  “Are we going, or what?” her father called from the base of the stairs. Cassie jumped, grabbed her purse, and threw her jacket on before running down the stairs.

  “Dad, seriously?” she asked, coming to a full stop on the bottom landing. Her father blinked up at her.

  “What?”

  “Your … ” Cassie trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Everything.”

  He grinned back, in no way embarrassed over his cartoon pajama pants and argyle sweater. “I was going to put on my hat,” he said, as if covering his messy hair would somehow negate the ridiculous outfit.

  “Right, Pops,” Cassie said. Her father opened the hall closet and pulled out an old, worn hat. He put it on in a familiar way, giving it a slight shake to settle it in place. “That should fix it. You know, some of your students are bound to be there. You don’t think you want to—”

  “None of my students will even notice me,” he answered, jingling the keys in front of her, “And even if they did, they’ll avoid eye contact. They always do.”

  “You’re the expert, I guess,” Cassie said. She shook her head, following him out the front door. Her father taught at the same high school Cassie attended; sociology and psychology were two of his classes. Those were elective, and she wouldn’t be forced to take them. Cassie had already had to suffer through his freshman history class. Laney was with her, so it wasn’t too horrible, just awkward. Some of the other kids had teased Cassie back then—they were all only freshman, after all—but Laney got riled up and shouted one of the biggest offenders down. Mackenzie Roberts never saw Laney coming; she was short and pale, and back then she still wore glasses, so no one would have thought much of being cornered by Laney Blake. Mackenzie backed off, and they were all friendly now. Laney and Mackenzie even team up now and again for the Debate Club. But to this day, Cassie felt a small surge of gratitude at the memory of Laney sticking up for her.

  The drive to the carnival was short, but already the sky had darkened. In the cut of the headlights, Cassie could see arrows pointing the way to the patch of land next to the local library that her town always used for the carnival. The rest of the year it would sit empty and bare, weak patches of grass struggling through hard packed dirt. But tonight, for one night only, it came alive. Feet trampled the struggling grass, fallen popcorn and spilled soda churned into the dirt, giant, metal rides cemented themselves to the earth, and greasy barkers took your tickets for a two-minute ride.

  A banner advertising the carnival hung in the middle of the town, limp and drifting in the breeze. Her father drove under it with recordings of the day’s radio talk shows blasting around them as they drove. Once they passed their town’s only stoplight, Cassie could see the carnival, just like every year, sending a halo of light up into the darkening sky. The music was corny and loud, probably to cover the wrenching of the shaky machines, and she could hear it, pulsing outward, as her father pulled the car up just outside the parking lot. A man stood in the entranceway ready to collect parking money, a flashlight lit and pointing to the mangled grass on which he stood.

  “Ryan not meeting you here?” Patrick asked, turning down the radio voices as he scanned the dark parking lot.

  “No, I’m meeting Laney, Dad,” Cassie corrected, checking the message she just received from her best friend. “And we’re meeting in front of the organ.”

  He grunted. “Maybe I should … ” She saw him reach for his seatbelt, heard the pop of the buckle in the darkness.

  “Not on your life!” Cassie protested, racing to get her own seatbelt undone. “You are not walking me anywhere in that outfit!”

  Her dad laughed. “You women! All so particular. You know, it’s not you walking around in pajama pants.”

  “Yes, I know,” Cassie said, scooting out and shutting the door behind her. She bent toward the open car window. “Because I try not to mix my argyles with my Simpsons.”

  “You have enough money?” he asked, buckling back in.

  “Yep, all set,” she answered, backing away from the car and waving. He grunted his goodbye, but she knew he’d wait there until he saw her get through the parking lot. It was just his way.

  Part of Cassie was glad he would. Walking through the woods at night was creepy enough, but at least Laney was next to her. It made it better, somehow. Alone, the dark creeped her out. She headed straight for the front gate, scooting past the parking attendant, and down a long line of darkened cars. The scent of stale popcorn mingled with dust to perfume the air. She looked straight ahead, not wanting to see things in the shadows between the cars. Her boots crunched on the gravel, the grating noise cutting through the faint undertone of laughter and squeals that were just up ahead. Her imagination always went into overdrive during these isolated, dark moments. She knew it, and sometimes the little movements everyone saw out of the corner of their eyes took on a life of their own. So she ignored it, not wanting to give life to the fear.

  Laney was different. She’d run into the shadows and flush out the m
onsters, which would, of course, invariably turn out to be a rabbit, or bird, or the errant flash of light cast from someone’s wristwatch. It was always explainable. Even knowing that, Cassie wasn’t one to tempt fate. She preferred to let sleeping monsters lie.

  “Have a light?”

  Cassie jumped, not really expecting a voice from the dark. From between two cars, a shadow solidified. A boy stepped forward, his jeans smeared with grease and his dark hood up over his head and hanging down past his brow. She could just make out the sandy hair that hovered over the piercing, blue eyes. He stared at her as he stepped closer, his gaze sharp in the darkness.

  Or was it a man? Now that he drew nearer, the lines of boyhood seemed to melt. His face was older, drawn. There were creases in the folds of his skin that she hadn’t noticed at first. Somehow, it seemed like he was wearing a cheap Halloween mask, something rubber made to emulate human skin, and suddenly she was terrified, a feeling of danger rising up from her core.

  “No, sorry,” she stammered, stepping back.

  He stepped with her.

  She jumped again when a car horn blared and turned to see her father still parked there, his outline peering at her through the dark. A chuckle echoed from the shadows, and Cassie shivered, even in the unseasonable warmth.

  “Got to go, sorry,” she said. The man stared, his head tilting slightly as he regarded her. He didn’t speak, and yet Cassie got the strange impression he was trying to communicate with her anyway.

  “I don’t smoke,” she added, feeling like he was looking for more. He still didn’t react, just stared until she turned. She knew her father would still be watching her, so she walked toward the carnival, keeping the stranger to her back.

  Cassie cried out as her foot caught and she stumbled, just managing to get her balance before she fell face first onto the gravel parking lot. She righted herself with a huff, anger sparking at the breath of laughter she heard from behind her, from the man that watched as she tripped over air.

  Cassie moved quickly, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She let out a breath of relief when she got to the main entrance and was shuffled through. Her phone buzzed, and she looked down to her screen.

  Patrick: In ok?

  She typed back a quick reply to her father and waited a moment. He answered quickly.

  Patrick: Make Ryan walk you to the car. Stay away from weirdos.

  She tucked her phone away, craning her neck to look for the organ.

  “You are so late,” Laney said, her voice raised over the calliope music. She tucked her phone back into her pocket and looked up at Cassie. They were standing in front of an old music player, one of those large organs built into a box with wood paneling. It was still on the back of a trailer, and it towered over both of them. Lights flashed, and an animatronic monkey slammed cymbals together while puppets with chipped paint sung in robotic voices.

  “I know, the Sheridans got home late.”

  “Serves you right,” Laney quipped before muttering under her breath, “Babysitting.”

  “We had to meet in front of this thing?” Cassie asked, her face scrunched against the loud music. Laney grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the organ and further into the carnival.

  “I knew you couldn’t miss it,” Laney said, shrugging. “Jon and Ryan are by the food.”

  Cassie let her friend lead her through an aisle of loud and flashing games. The vendors slouched by the booths, not at all like in the movies. In the movies, they’d cat call and try to tempt you into playing for flashy prizes, but that’s not how this carnival worked. It was like that every year, though. Men, and some women, unshaven and looking like they hadn’t showered in a few days, came with trucks and trailers loaded down with shaky rides and booths with half the light bulbs broken. They spread out over the two-acre lot, cramming the booths on top of each other, spacing out the rides, and creating an aroma of fried food that wafted over the small town. Everyone came. It was tradition.

  When she was little, Cassie always came with her parents. Her dad would sit on the rickety rides, whooping and hollering with her, while her mom watched from below. Cassie always thought her mom looked nervous, and now that she was older, she could understand why. Most of the rides looked like a strong breeze could tip them.

  Cassie and Laney didn’t race from ride to ride anymore. They also didn’t normally bother with the games either—no one needed a moth-eaten, over-sized, stuffed Scooby Doo to carry around for the rest of the night. Still, she wouldn’t miss carnival night.

  “Do you see Jessica Evans over there?” Cassie said, her voice lowered as she leaned into her friend. Laney craned her neck over the crowd. She was shorter than Cassie and had to stretch to her toes to see their classmate. Jessica was chatting up one of the vendors. He looked like he could be in his forties, his stomach hung unpleasantly over his belt, and his face was pockmarked with years of building acne scars. His tank top was unnecessarily tight, and yellow stains saturated the ribbed, cotton fabric.

  “Eugh! I would have pegged her as a girl with better taste,” Laney said, grinning at Cassie. “Maybe she’s trying to buy drugs or something.”

  “Right,” Cassie said through a laugh, knowing that Jessica, a teammate of hers from the softball team, did not use drugs. “How would she even know he sold them?”

  “Maybe he smells like pot,” Laney answered, shrugging.

  “From the look of him, he smells like he hasn’t bathed in weeks,” Cassie said, staring at the man. Jessica didn’t look like she was trying to buy drugs. She looked honestly fascinated, which was weird, for her. She was flippant, at times, blunt even. But she wasn’t one to go seeking out men twice her age. Cassie looked at the people milling around Jessica, reactively seeking out her best friend, Rebecca Murphy. The two were usually inseparable.

  “Do you see Murph?” Cassie asked, scanning for the one person she knew would be watching out for Jessica. Laney shook her head.

  “Aren’t they away this weekend? Wasn’t she out on Friday?”

  Cassie nodded, remembering. Rebecca and her younger brother Jordan were absent from school on Friday. Cassie remembered her other softball teammate saying something about a trip out of town this weekend. She was pulled from her musing by the sudden aroma of fried potatoes becoming suddenly more concentrated as a greasy container was waved under her nose.

  “French fry?”

  Cassie turned and grinned as Ryan and Jon materialized behind her. She snatched a fry from the paper cup Ryan flourished in her direction, popping it in her mouth and grinning her thanks. Laney held her hand out until Ryan passed the container over to her. Jon was next to him, devouring fried dough topped with powdered sugar.

  “Where to?” Ryan asked, pulling what was left of his fries away from Laney. “Ferris wheel?”

  “You’re not getting me on that thing,” Laney said. “It looks like it’s about to tip over.”

  “Says the girl who chases ghosts,” Ryan said.

  “Chases, yes,” Laney said, falling into step with Jon and heading off into the carnival. “But I have no immediate desire to join them.”

  The carnival was packed with their classmates and families. Cassie waved hello to Sara and Stephanie Allen, twins in the year behind her that played shortstop and pitcher respectively on the varsity softball team. They waved back, on their way to show up their boyfriends at the toss games. Laney got dragged into one conversation by Brendan Holcomb, arguing in low tones.

  “What was that about?” Cassie asked once Laney rejoined their group. Laney huffed.

  “He wanted my opinion on having a masquerade dance for homecoming.”

  “That’d be cool,” Jon said, his attention pulled away from a blond in tight jeans as he nodded at Laney. “Like an early Halloween party. What’d you say?”

  “I said ask me about it at school and not on my weekend,” Laney snapped.

  “Rough, Laney,” Cassie chastised. Laney rolled her eye
s. “Isn’t the dance soon?”

  “A couple weeks,” Laney muttered. The crowd surged around and through them, a large man knocking Cassie into Ryan. He steadied her with a firm hand on her hip and her stomach clenched at the contact. Jon dodged past the group and spun back around, walking backward and facing his friends.

  “You know,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets, “most girls look forward to senior year dances.”

  “Most people look forward to senior year ending so they never have to see any of their classmates again,” Laney countered.

  “Except us, of course,” Cassie said through a grin, nudging Laney. “You’ll miss us.”

  “You know what you’ll really miss?” Ryan said hopefully.

  “Your good looks?” Laney quipped, reaching out and stealing a piece of the cotton candy Jon had just finished paying for.

  “Well, yeah, obviously,” Ryan started with a wave. “But even more than that? The Ferris wheel! C’mon, one go around.”

  They groaned collectively until Ryan begged. “Please! Cassie, this is my thing.”

  “This is your thing?” Cassie teased, laughing. She followed him, letting Ryan grab her hand and pull her along. “A broken down ride at the carnival? Pretty sad, Ryan.”

  The Ferris wheel dominated the center of the carnival. It was the same ride Cassie had seen year after year—simple metal construction, a dozen seats covered in a soft plastic of alternating colors: faded red, blue, and a yellow that had stained with use and weather to a mustard brown. Lights flickered on the metal wheel, some of them broken. The tinny music from the over-sized music box blared loudly here, cymbals clanging in time with the animatronic monkey voices.

  There wasn’t much of a line. The attendant gestured them forward, and Ryan and Cassie were seated on a red seat. Cassie was pretty sure someone should have checked the safety rail before they got on—it rattled as the attendant brought it down over their laps.