Eerie Read online

  Fin was already holding out a bottle of Bushmills. “Here,” he sighed. “And you better not drink any of that.”

  Hailey rolled her eyes.

  Fin stared back at her, looking very annoyingly like the cover of a magazine: tall and ruggedly handsome with dark brown eyes; dark, disheveled hair; and always just the right amount of soft stubble on his face. It used to be hard not to gaze at him, but after two months of playful banter, a few broken pint glasses and an epic water-fight that ended with Uncle Pix punching Fin square in the nose, Hailey could see past his gorgeous face. And though he couldn’t be any older than twenty-two, he was, as Uncle Pix had proclaimed, “way too feckin old” for her and Holly anyway.

  “Thanks, Fin, I already have an overprotective guardian.” She grasped the bottle, but Fin held it tight, and Hailey looked up at him.

  “Let go.” She grinned, and he shook his head.

  “Ask me nicely.”

  Hailey huffed. “Let go of this bottle, or I’ll tell Uncle Pix you kissed Holly.”

  “I never kissed Holly!” He dropped his cocky smile and the bottle.

  “ . . .but I bet you want to,” Hailey teased.

  “Want to what?” A smiling Holly appeared next to the bar, her chestnut ponytail still swinging.

  Hailey giggled. “Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  She looked back at Fin just before the door closed behind her and in time to see him set his jaw. How she loved to one-up that man. If only it were that easy with all guys.

  “What was that about?” Holly jabbed her thumb at the pub.

  “I was just teasing Fin about kissing you.”

  Holly groaned. “I wish he would kiss me.”

  “You and every other girl that walks into Hullachan’s.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Hailey shook her head. “Nope. I’m impervious to his immature charm.” She turned to Holly. “I mean, it hits me, but it just ricochets off my shell.”

  “You and your shell—weirdo.”

  Chapter Three

  Vanished

  “Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.”

  - Montaigne

  Hailey frowned, running her hand across the cold wrought iron as they passed through the cemetery gates. A menacing oak, abnormally large with octopus branches skimming the ground, squatted nearby. It groaned in the wind as they passed.

  “You want to go first or should I?” Hailey asked as they crested the hill.

  Holly opened the whiskey. “You go chat with Mom, and I’ll raise a glass with Dad.”

  Hailey settled on her knees in the grass, pulling a few clovers as she gathered her thoughts.

  Standing next to her, Holly held the bottle high. “Here’s to you, Dad. Sláinte.” She stared at the sky for a moment, and then she poured a healthy dose on the ground, took a swig and held the bottle out to Hailey.

  “Amen.” Hailey crossed herself and stood with her sister, taking just one molecule of the rusty nail juice and handing it back to Holly, who drizzled the rest over their parents’ graves.

  Hailey stared at their headstones, mentally willing an image that wouldn’t come, wishing she had a photo—just one— of Mom and Dad, but the fire had taken those too.

  “I can’t remember what they looked like anymore.”

  “You were only five when they died, Hailey.”

  She looked up, frowning. “Do you ever think about that night?”

  “Of course.” Holly sighed, tipping her head at Hailey. She patted the necklace she always wore. “Every time I look at this.”

  “Mom’s necklace.” Hailey smiled. It was an heirloom charm—nothing valuable, just a shiny black stone in the shape of a heart. Hailey’s mother had originally given the necklace to her. But on the night of the fire, Hailey had given the necklace to Holly for comfort, and Holly had worn it ever since.

  Hailey drew a courageous breath. She hated to bring up the creatures that killed their parents—she felt like they were always listening—but she really needed to talk this out.

  “Do you remember the purple eyes?”

  “Don’t tell me you still think the monsters from your nightmares started the fire. Hailey—”

  “Envoys, Holly. They’re called Envoys—you can say the name—and I know what I saw.”

  “A lot of people think they see things when they’re scared.” Now she sounded uneasy, and she was definitely giving Hailey the stop-talking-now stare, which, of course, Hailey ignored.

  “I know you saw him too—”

  “And if you keep talking about Envoys,” Holly continued, “people are always going to think you’re weird.”

  Hailey pressed her lips together and nodded, but the Envoys had been showing up in her dreams again—a lot. Lately, she’d seen quite a bit of one Envoy in particular—a very kind one, thankfully. Oh, she couldn’t remember his name. That, like so many other details, evaporated as soon as her alarm went off.

  Not that Holly cared. She was blank-staring at Mom’s marker, no doubt lost in her own thoughts. But then the church bells clanged, and she jerked her head up. She flicked her eyes at her cell phone.

  “Oh, crap, the time! Hailey, we have to go, we’re late for dinner.”

  Both girls took off running and barreled into the pub just as the cook, Mrs. Lash, placed the first plates in the pick-up window.

  Holly shoved her hands under the faucet behind the bar, and Fin threw a towel playfully in her face.

  “You’re late,” he droned, and Holly smiled, grabbing three plates from the window and hurrying them into the dining room. Hailey grabbed another three and followed.

  Waiting tables at the pub was a cinch. Folks either wanted dinner or they didn’t. The menu was a single line on a chalkboard—always traditional Irish fare served from 4pm until the food ran out. That day Mrs. Lash created a delicious beef and barley soup, which the girls served with a wedge of white soda bread, the perfect meal for a chilly spring day.

  The mill workers coming off mid-shift loved the giant portions; the white collars loved the atmosphere, and the college students—they loved the three-dollar pitchers of beer.

  About an hour into dinner, when every seat in the pub was filled and a throng of patrons stood at the bar, Holly tapped Hailey’s shoulder as she rushed past, heading straight for the backroom, where the girls kept their Irish dance shoes. Hailey tore off her apron and followed, skip-dancing excitedly the whole way.

  “We’re starting with that new reel today,” Holly called over her shoulder. “You up for it?”

  “Of course!” said Hailey as she slid to a stop next to Holly. “As long as you’re on that stage next to me, I’ll dance anything.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Holly said as they grabbed their Irish hardshoes, plopped on the floor, and cinched their laces.

  Holly hopped up and shook first one foot then the other to loosen her ankles. She turned to her little sister. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go!” Hailey followed Holly to the small wooden stage in the corner of the pub.

  Holly stomped her foot in a rhythm and started clapping. “Welcome to Hullachan’s, everyone!”

  The crowd roared back, clapping in time with the girls. Hailey was stomping and clapping and smiling brightly back at them—until she saw a flash of purple.

  She froze, and Holly, still clapping, shot her a curious glance.

  Hailey was awake, she knew she was. She was dancing, so she couldn’t have dozed. Swallowing hard, Hailey quickly scanned the pub. Then she blinked hard, forced a smile, and picked up the rhythm again.

  Holly raised an eyebrow then counted down from four, three, two, one—both girls stomped their right foot and tapped out an a cappella hardshoe dance that sent their audience into cheers, hoots, hollers, and peals of applause
.

  The girls bowed and, still smiling brightly, threw their sneakers on and returned to running pints and plates and pitchers until happy hour waned and the dinner crowd thinned. During the evening lull Uncle Pix disappeared into the cellar to “count the whiskeys,” and Mrs. Lash left to run an errand.

  Holly bagged up the garbage. She threw a very large, very lime green St. Patrick’s Day hat on top of the trash before tying the bag closed. Heaving it over her shoulder, she headed outside.

  “Let’s dance our slow hornpipe tonight,” she called to Hailey from the doorway.

  “I’ll set it up,” Hailey called back.

  It was a super-fun rhythm, which involved a few dramatic pauses, lots of personality and, at least for Hailey, a full spectrum of facial expressions. The regulars loved it.

  Hailey wiped her hands and went to the office, where she found the CD. Shoes in hand, she sat on the floor and set to tying and buckling the leather, which was old, ugly, and held together by duct tape—perfectly broken-in. She dressed them up with a pair of bedazzled trinity knots, very sparkly. It was like putting a chandelier in a haunted house, but at least it drew the eye away from the duct tape.

  She was adjusting her shoe buckle when she heard a muffled commotion outside followed by the roar of an engine and a shrill screech of tires.

  “What was that?” she shouted out the office door as she fussed with her left shoe.

  No one answered.

  She clippety-clopped down the hall, over to the sound system and placed her CD in the drawer. Leaning against the wall, she shook out her ankles.

  “Come on, Holly!” she yelled.

  Just then, Mrs. Lash bustled inside holding up a pink object.

  “Hello dears,” she announced with a huff. “Holly’s dropped her cell phone outside, and now the screen’s cracked.”

  Hailey’s blood ran cold. Holly dropped her phone . . .and left it? No way. She loved that annoying thing—

  Rushing to Mrs. Lash, she grabbed the phone and lit the screen. It was definitely Holly’s.

  “Holly,” she breathed and bolted out the door. “Holly!” she shouted.

  Blood rushed in her ears as she clutched the pink phone and snapped her head right and left.

  “Holly!”

  No answer.

  She ran to the dumpster. Rounding the corner she saw a line of trash strewn across the pavement. Her heart pounding, she opened her mouth to shout again then stopped.

  A very large, very lime green St. Patrick’s Day hat quivered in the breeze. Next to the hat was a single shoe: green with pink laces.

  Hailey picked up the shoe without thinking and wobbled.

  Then she unleashed a scream so loud, she was sure it would reach her uncle in the cellar.

  Fin and several patrons burst through the door.

  Hailey stood wide-eyed and trembling in the middle of the parking lot, holding a green shoe with hot pink laces.

  Fin rushed to catch her as her world went black.

  Inside the shoe was Holly’s severed foot.

  Chapter Four

  The Search

  “If you wish to discover the guilty person, first find out to whom the crime might be useful.”

  - Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

  “Hailey . . .” a wavering voice called.

  Hailey rolled over and sat up, knuckling her eyes, and when she opened them, it was horror.

  There was Holly—standing next to the bed, ashen-faced, shivering, and covered in dirt, blood oozing from a wide-open gash on her forehead.

  “Help me, Hailey,” she breathed, tears streaming down her face. Holly reached out, but when she did, her hands fell off as if they’d been lopped off by a pair of invisible blades. They landed in Hailey’s bed, two muffled thumps against her quilt. Blood spurted from Holly’s wrists as she raised them up. Gaping in horror, she flicked her eyes to Hailey and whimpered.

  “Hailey, help me!”

  “Holly!”

  Scrambling out of bed, Hailey lunged for her sister, but Holly was yanked into the shadows before she could reach her.

  Purple eyes flashed in the darkness, and Hailey screamed.

  “NO!”

  A heavy hand fell on her shoulder.

  She drew a quick breath.

  “You’re awake now, Hailey, don’t be afraid,” whispered a gentle voice—his voice—next to her ear, and the room came into focus.

  Hailey whipped around, furiously scanning the dark, but the room was empty, still. The silence only amplified her heartbeat as it hammered in her ears.

  Uncle Pix burst through the door, and Hailey jumped.

  “She’s here, Uncle Pix, she was just here.” Hailey darted to her bed and rummaged through the blankets. “Her hands fell off, they’re—they’re here . . .somewhere . . .”

  Pix hurried to her side, grabbed her flailing arms, and pulled her into a tight hug.

  “Shhh, Hailey, it was a dream. Just a dream, Hailey.”

  A dream? Hailey’s shoulder still tingled where the Envoy had touched it. THAT was no dream. She buried her face into her uncle’s shirt and sobbed.

  Uncle Pix tucked Hailey back in bed, but that first night without Holly didn’t get any easier. In between her nightmares, Hailey cried—cried and worried and wondered why someone would . . . would . . .

  She shuddered, pushing the image of Holly’s shoe from her mind and wiping her face on her sister’s pillow. Then she hugged it tight.

  She had to do something—go outside and search, post flyers . . . something.

  As Hailey pulled herself up and through the house, things in her periphery quivered. More than once a shadow budged, startling her. After seeing three shadow monsters, she’d had enough and turned on every light in her path until she found her Great Uncle Pix sitting in the living room, staring at the door.

  She sat on the couch and stared with him.

  Uncle Pix, whose real name was Donald (but nobody called him that), looked like a grumpy old man and insisted he now stood a full five inches shorter than he did when he stepped off the boat from Ireland fifty years ago. To everyone else, Pix was a grouch, but to her and Holly, he was just a big teddy bear. Hailey remembered well the night they came to stay with him after the fire. He’d fixed them hot chocolate with whipped cream before rolling out the sleeping bags and camping with them right there, on the living room floor.

  “Your grandfather’s coming,” Pix said suddenly.

  Right now? Hailey looked at Uncle Pix then back at the door, half-expecting it to swing open. “Oh,” she managed.

  Hailey hadn’t seen her grandfather in . . .well, ever. He’d gone back to Ireland 30 years ago and had been living with the silent monks ever since. The only thing Hailey really knew about him was that his real name was Seamus. Pix only ever referred to him as Wimp, though, which was a misnomer. In his heyday, he was a bare-knuckles fighter in the Navy.

  “Your great uncles too,” Pix added.

  Uncle Pix had four brothers. In addition to Wimp, there was Dale, Skeet, and Johnny.

  Hailey couldn’t force words to respond, though she did wonder if Uncle Pix was keeping vigil for Holly for or waiting for his brothers. Whatever his reason, she watched the front door with him, biting her thumbnail and shaking her leg until dawn.

  At 7:00 a.m., the coffee pot turned itself on, and Uncle Pix finally blinked. He rubbed his face with both hands and sprang to his feet. Hailey got up and followed him. Though she hadn’t slept at all, she felt remarkably alert and ready to hit the pavement in search of her sister.

  “I think we should call the hospitals again,” she said as she moved to the phone.

  Pix grunted his usual pre-coffee grunt and pulled six mugs from the cupboard.

  “When are your brothers due in?” she asked as she dialed. />
  “Got in last night.” He impatiently stared at the coffee pot.

  “Last night?” She held the phone to her ear. “Where did they st—Yes, hello, I’m calling to find out if my sister was brought in overnight—Holly Hartley? Yes, I’ll hold.”

  She placed her hand over the receiver.

  “Where did they stay?”

  “The pub, of course.”

  “What? They slept on the fl—Yes! I’m holding for the E.R.—” Hailey listened intently for a few seconds then sighed heavily. “No, Holly’s nineteen years old,” she explained, her voice half disappointed, half relieved, “—and thank you for checking,” she added before hanging up.

  She put her hand on her hip and turned to her uncle, who had shoved the pot out of the way and was holding his mug directly under the coffee dispenser.

  “Why didn’t they stay here?”

  “Didn’t want to disturb the house.”

  “We’re already disturbed,” she argued.

  Just then the latch at the front door clicked.

  “Holly!” Hailey sprinted to catch the door and threw it open.

  Standing on the doorstep were four geriatrics, all of whom looked strikingly similar to Uncle Pix—short, gray-haired, and grumpy. Three stood solemnly, hands folded politely. One was naked, shoeless, shivering, and rolled up like a burrito in a rug Hailey recognized from the pub. She couldn’t help but stare at the scrawny old man legs poking out of the bottom of the rug.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Dale,” her uncle’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Where’s yer drawers?”

  “Didn’t survive the flight,” he answered.

  “And took your shoes with’em,” Pix concluded, as if these were normal casualties of commercial flight. “Well, get yerselves in here before the neighbors get an eyeful.”

  The brothers shuffled inside, each taking their turn to introduce themselves to Hailey.

  “I’m your Uncle Dale,” said the first with a hint of shame as he waddled past and into the kitchen.

  “I’m your Uncle Skeet,” said the next. He pecked her on the cheek and added, “You’ll remember we met at your parents’ funeral.”