“Also,” Maddy adds softly, “didn’t you say you had everything under control?”
Ever can’t suppress a smile, and Carter rolls his eyes. We’ve all come to learn Maddy’s softest words pack the hardest punch.
“Hey, let’s open this chest, shall we?”
I wander a little closer as Maddy picks up the puzzle box and sets to work trying to open it. It’s a bit of a stereotype, getting the autistic girl to solve the puzzles, but she’s also far better at figuring out the solutions than any of us are. More importantly, she likes it. She chose to be the puzzle solver. And she’s intensely focused, as she shifts the puzzle box back and forth, twisting and turning it.
Her hands tremble. She has her tongue between her teeth and a frown creases her forehead.
Twist.
Click.
The moment the last piece of the box shifts into place and Maddy reaches to open the lid, the fireplace behind her roars to life.
A flash—like lightning.
A crash.
The flames jump from a light simmer, bright enough to add mood to the room, to licking tongues, bright orange and aggressive. Dancing against the glass as if they’re trying to escape.
“Hell no.” Carter pushes back away from the flames—and his mug goes clattering to the ground. Ever yelps and jumps too.
I stare at the fire, mesmerized, my heart rate at least three times the normal speed. I want to step closer, and I want to back away, and between the two I’m frozen. “I—I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.”
It’s an electric fireplace, it should be under control. There’s no way it should be able to burn so…violently.
“You think?” Ever’s voice ranges three octaves in two words. “Someone should cut the power. Liva, find the fuse box!”
The flames grow higher, unreasonably so. They’re crackling, or perhaps that’s the electricity itself.
Carter backs farther away from the fireplace. “What if it explodes?”
It looks possible. The flames are beating against the glass now. The whole room has been turned a terrifying red in its glow, and it’s already starting to become swelteringly hot in here.
“Maddy, get back here.”
Liva stands over the overturned plate of broken cookies, scattered across the floor. They’re mixed with shards of Carter’s mug. She blinks and blinks again. Her hands are trembling, and she’s gone pale. Then she starts to laugh, and she shakes her head. “Screw you, ghosts.” She crunches the cookies under her feet and makes for the hallway.
Over the roaring of the flames, we all hear a door open. A click.
A yelp. “Why are there rats in my cabin?”
Ever scrambles over to help, but I don’t want to know.
Then…
The flames dissipate. The room goes dark. She’s cut the power to the whole cabin, and the only thing left is the sparse moonlight filtering in through the windows.
In front of the empty fireplace, the puzzle box tumbles from Maddy’s hands onto the floor. Her fingers cramp around air, as if she’s still trying to hold on to the wooden pieces.
This is how easily we crumble.
Seven
Maddy
Their words sound like they’re under water—or maybe I am. Something’s churning inside of me, and I’m going to be sick.
“What happened there? Ever, was this your idea?”
“I appreciate atmosphere, but I’m not a fan of scaring people—or messing with electricity.”
My skin is too tight, and I feel like I’m overflowing. Fire. Flames.
“Perhaps the fireplace malfunctioned.”
“If that’s the case, it had excellent timing.”
I keep tapping my foot on the floor until my knee locks. If I were closer to the flames, I’d keep my hands too close to the fire until the heat scorched me and claimed me, and I would let it devour me. Instead, there’s darkness, and I can’t see or feel my edges. I need something to ground me, something to cling to. Am I supposed to react? How am I supposed to react? What is left of me?
“Maybe the cabin is haunted after all.”
“Liva…”
I stare at the fireplace, but I can’t seem to focus. I’m a million ants in a trench coat. I haven’t picked up the puzzle box yet, and the roar of the fire and the crashing of Carter’s mug echoes in my ears. If I was a lacrosse defender still, I would go running now, and I wouldn’t stop until I ate the grass.
I like that image: eating grass.
“Did you do it? Did you rig the fireplace? Play into the ghost story?”
The world is twisting and turning, and tension crawls up from my knee. I hate ghost stories, and I hate people playing into ghost stories more. I hate the sound of things crashing, because I can feel it in my bones. I hate not being able to remember how to breathe. I hate everything. I hate them all.
“Maddy?”
The power comes back and a light flicks on. Finn’s face filters into my vision. Furrowed eyebrows. Worry, perhaps. Impatience.
“Maddy, are you okay? Look at me.”
I try to focus, but there’s a disconnect between my body and my mind, like nothing about it fits anymore. I don’t feel like I belong in this body, I don’t know how to interact with this world. It feels like I’m observing through a veil, and I don’t know how to move. Panic is a type of pain too.
In my periphery, Liva laughs, and there’s an edge of scorn to it. “Why would I? I mean, I did tell Ever about the ghost story, so they could weave it into their introduction. You can’t have such a cool setting and all these legends without at least doing something with it. But no, I didn’t break the five-thousand-dollar fireplace for atmosphere, Carter.”
“I’m sure Carter didn’t mean anything by it. It is your cabin, after all.”
Ever’s words are met by silence. An intake of breath. “I know. I just don’t like the suspicion. I’m not responsible for everything all of the time. And besides…” Liva’s voice drops. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but I also don’t believe in angering them.”
My hands claw and tremble at those words.
“Will you all shut up?” Finn’s voice. Anger.
I flinch away from that too.
“Maddy. C’mon, focus on us.” Ever’s face appears next to Finn. They keep their voice level, gentle. Do they lean in? Tilt their head? So much nonverbal communication is tone of voice too, but Ever is in game mode now, and their tone is neutral and unreadable. They built feet-thick walls around themself. “Is it too much? Too loud?”