Mortal

CHAPTER ONE“How much longer?” I turn to the pilot, not sure my headset is even working properly. The man and I haven't exchanged a single word since taking off an hour ago. “We’re there.” I blink at him. Look out the propeller plane’s window. Blink some more. He has to be kidding. Acres of pine trees stretch out below, a blanket of green reaching toward the horizon. “Where?” I don’t see any buildings. He points ahead, to where the trees open into a field; a thin runway stretched the length of it. I lean forward, looking for a building, but still there’s nothing. This is where I’m going to school? In the middle of nowhere Maine, with not one speck of civilization in sight? You have to be kidding me, Dad. Like always, thinking about him sends a wave of pain crashing through me. I close my eyes and try to keep the tears at bay, but they prick my eyelids, hot and blinding. According to my father’s will, I was to spend the last eight months of my high school career at a boarding school in a state I’d never even been to, surrounded by people I’d never met. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. My dad never mentioned anything to me about leaving my public high school for a private school. Why had he put it in his will? Weeks later and I’m still trying to understand his motivation. The more I think about it, though, the less sense it makes. Then again, these days the whole world feels like it doesn’t make any sense. The pilot angles the plane down, and my stomach drops. Curling my hands around the armrest, I keep my eyes closed and wait for it to be over. The bump against the tarmac flings my stomach into my throat, and I nearly vomit. But the flight is over. Thank God. Maybe. Honestly, for all I know, things are about to get much, much worse. The engine quieting down, I open my door and climb to the ground. The pilot’s already collecting my suitcase and backpack–all that I had left, save for what’s in storage units in Wisconsin. “Thanks.” I take the bags from him, but the concerned look on his face makes me pause. “You don’t look like the other kids.” What’s that supposed to mean? “The other students?” I pull my suitcase closer to me. “You fly a lot of them here?” “Sometimes.” He looks over my shoulder, and I feel more than read his unsettled mood. “Good luck, Winter.” “Thank you.” I would use his name as well, but he didn’t give it to me when I introduced myself right before takeoff. It’s gray on the ground, a fog seeping out of the trees and across the grass. The woods would be mysterious enough, but the fog adds a whole other layer. A shiver runs down my spine, and my mouth goes dry. An ache to be back in Wisconsin–so powerful it nearly brings me to my knees–bursts through me. I should be getting ready for homecoming right now, doing my hair with Lerissa and talking about whatever stupid rumor is floating around school this week. I should be getting psyched for next week’s swim meet, looking forward to a dozen other normal, teenage things. I squeeze my eyes shut. That was my old life, and it’s no more real than a dream now. Time to get with the program. Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath. I start to tell the pilot thank you for the ride, but he’s already in the plane, closing the door behind him. “Oh.” My mouth falls open. The plane takes off–seemingly faster than it arrived, or maybe that’s my imagination–and I pivot to take in the scene around me. The fog’s thickening, and with no road or people in sight, there’s nothing to do. I’m abandoned in the wilderness, with nothing but a suitcase of clothes and the stuffed elephant I sometimes still sleep with. As far as family, that’s gone too. Apparently I have an aunt somewhere, a half-sister of my dad’s. I’ve never even met her, though. For all I know, she wants nothing to do with me. The tears start collecting again. I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, but the last three weeks have been so nonstop, so fast, so overwhelming that sometimes I just want to lay down and go to sleep. Sleep and then wake up in my house to the smell of waffles cooking and the sounds of my dad’s favorite jazz albums spinning on the record player. Suddenly, headlights cut through the fog. From a road I hadn’t noticed before, a black car emerges. Fresh air fills my lungs. As sad as things can get, sometimes I just need a little reminder that I’m not alone in the world. Breaking into a brisk walk (because running would look too desperate), I wave my hand at the car. “Hey! Over here!” The car slides to a stop in front of me, its windows tinted so dark that I can’t see whoever is behind the wheel. I sigh in relief and wait for the driver to get out. Instead, the back window rolls down. “Miss Grace?” a man’s voice says from inside the car. “Er… Yes?” The window rolls back up. That’s it? Chewing my lip, I take a chance, open the door, and toss my suitcase and backpack in. My butt barely hits the seat before the car takes off. With a partition between the back and front seats, I can’t see who’s driving the car. So, basically, I could have just been kidnapped. “Is Hawthorn close?” I ask the partition. No response. Collapsing against the leather seat, I run my hand over the beads strung on my wrist. There isn’t a day of my life I don’t remember my dad wearing the bracelet–except for the morning he died in the car accident. That morning, he’d left in a rush and forgot to put it on. Ever since that phone call, I haven’t taken it off. The car abruptly stops, and I fly forward, my cheek slamming into the partition. “Ow.” I rub my face. You’d think, ironically, after both my parents dying in car accidents, I’d have learned my lesson about wearing a seatbelt. “Is this where I’m getting out?” I roll down the window and inspect the fork in the road we’ve reached. More woods. More creepy fog. More emptiness. The driver doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. The sound of horse hooves already has my attention. A black horse pulling a carriage, like the kind my dad and I rode in during that trip we took to New York City, heads straight for the car. This carriage is nothing like the ones in Central Park, though. It’s falling apart, and the horse looks like it just dropped one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse off after a long shift. Its eyes are steely obsidian, its nostrils flaring. The fog’s so thick that it completely hides the driver, but the door to the carriage swings open and a face appears. A girl my age, her hair in two long blonde braids, smiles at me. “Hey!” It’s like seeing the sun after weeks of darkness, and the next thing I know I’m scrambling into the carriage. She helps me with my bags, and I sit across from her, facing backwards. “You’re going to Hawthorn, too?” Her brown eyes are wide. “I guess so.” The carriage starts moving, and we bump along the road. “I’m Brynn.” “Winter.” I offer a little wave. “This is so crazy.” Brynn tugs on one of her braids, her gaze darting all over the place. “Right? I mean, what do you know about this school?” “Not much.” I pull out my phone to show her my most recent Google search, but the browser doesn’t load. Great. Add “no mobile data” to the perks of this place. “I found hardly anything,” I say. “Just one picture. It looks like it’s really old.” Brynn nods so hard it’s a wonder her head doesn’t fall off. “And it’s in the middle of a river, on an island. A ton of people have gone missing from there.” A chill passes through me. “What? When?” “Just over the decades.” She chews her bottom lip. “And supposedly it’s haunted, too.” My gaze falls to my slip-on sneakers. For the millionth time, I wonder why my dad chose this for me. Tuition is already paid for, the rest of my dad’s money put into a trust for me, with a small allowance to be sent my way every month. In addition, his will stipulated that the house I grew up in be sold. It was like he wanted every trace of the life he gave me to be wiped away. Which doesn’t make any sense. He loved our home in Wisconsin; he always said his favorite place in the world was at our house, with me. Gathering all my strength, I force a smile. “It can’t be that bad, right? The worst part will probably be that we’re starting two months late. It always sucks being the new kid.” Brynn stares at me, her silence the only answer I need. “I mean, even if some people go missing…” I chuckle. “Most of them survive Hawthorn, right? Don’t worry. We’ll be okay.” Her eyes are still wide. Maybe that’s the way they always are. “Look.” Her voice shaking, she points behind me. I turn and crane to look past the horse. The woods have suddenly ended, like a line was drawn between them and whatever is next. Through the fog, a wooden drawbridge emerges, dark water flowing underneath it. My breath catches in my throat. There’s that awful, ominous feeling in my gut, the same one I felt when the phone rang four hours after my dad was supposed to be home from his job at the university. Everything is about to change–again. The carriage reaches the edge of the water, and the bridge slowly lowers, creaking like an ancient ship. It slices through the fog, scattering the haze. There it is, halfway across the river and on an island, just like Brynn said: an old stone mansion, barely visible in the haze. Behind it, other buildings take shape in the fog, but they look like little more than dark masses. Behind me, Brynn whimpers. I swallow, doing my best to push back the anxiety. I have no clue what’s headed my way next, and I feel like a trapped animal. Is this what you wanted, Dad? Okay. I’ll do it. But only because it’s you asking. “It’ll be fine.” My best beauty pageant smile on, I turn back to Brynn. “What’s the worst that could happen, right?”