The town has gone mad. Like proper mad. Like Mrs Henderson walking her three cats in a pram mad. Isla sits in the treehouse, swinging her legs over the edge. Beside her is Davey, Heather, Nidhi and Blake. For one, none of the parents are letting them in the house. For another, everyone has hammered crosses to every inch of their front doors. Worst of all, none of them have Halloween decorations up anymore!
Isla stands, hair dried with salt water and fingers bright white from the cold water. The girl knew following Davey was a bad idea – and God was it a bad idea. But, then again, she should have known better than to blindly follow a boy she fancies.
She shot him a glare as he tries to nonchalantly calm his friends. Emphasis on his. These aren’t Isla’s friends, she barely knows anyone here besides from an occasional shared class.
“I don’t get it,” Isla muttered. “What’s their problem?”
“You think it has anything to do with those crop circles from last week?” Nidhi asked, pushing her curls out of her face. They’re still soaked from the seawater.
“Crop circles?” Heather snorted. “What? You think aliens are the reason our parents are not letting us go home?”
“It’s not that crazy.” Blake lifted his head, his dark eyes broody and bored even in this situation. “The farmer’s cows all vanished as well.”
“The fence was broken; someone probably nicked them.” Davey said. He stands up, back rigid and a cut on his cheek from the incident last night. “I think they’re trying to teach us a lesson.”
Isla didn’t think so. Her Mums wouldn’t do this to her. They never liked her staying out too late, especially in the seasons where it got dark too fast. Maybe their parents would kick them out as punishment, but hers wouldn’t. Honestly, the more likely scenario is that these people really weren’t their parents. Or that maybe their parents had something take over them.
Anything felt possible right now. Her Mums didn’t look right either. None of their parents did. All thinned and greying, eyes heavy, bodies twitchy. Her Mums look 10 years older.
Dread crept into Isla like little maggots worming under her skin. Something was wrong. What’s worse is that she is sure she’s felt this dread and inherent wrongness before. She doesn’t know why.
“We should try again,” Isla said surely, “we have to keep trying to get through to them.”
________________________________________
The streets are empty when the children crawl along the roads. They had tried earlier to go home and had met steely silence. So, they had gone to the treehouse outside the village. It didn’t really belong to anyone, just whoever wanted to play in it that day.
Isla looked to the beach in the distance. Her crush got the better of her yesterday. To be invited anywhere by Davey was a big deal, he was two social ranks up from her in high school terms.
But she should never have went. It seemed fun, sneaking out the night before Halloween, telling stories around a fire and sipping warm ciders. That part was fun at least. Then Davey found a rowboat and promised he could sail it.
He couldn’t. The winds picked up. The sea was unkind. The boat flipped.
The one thing that stuck with her was the fear. Not just hers. A collective terror. Everyone’s hands grabbing aimlessly. Bodies bumping. The waves spinning them like a washing machine. When they awoke, it was the next day, and the sun was setting.
Now they’re, again, dragging their feet home. Despite the hours that passed, they’re still drenched. She has been wet for so long she can’t feel it. The girl parts from the group, off to find her home. No decorations. No Halloween spirit. Just a cross on the door and chains across the gate.
Isla frowned. Who were they trying to keep out? With little struggle, she crawls over the gate. She topples over the other side. It doesn’t hurt. Her knees are cut up from the sea rocks, but they don’t bleed. The salt water must have soothed them.
The girl finally knocked her door again.
A hush inside. Someone whispers something.
“Mama! Mum!” Isla called, knocking the wood again. “Let me in! It’s me! Isla! Why are you being like this—?”
The door croaks open ever so slight. A piercing blue eye comes from the dark.
A woman who sounds nothing like her Mums whispers, “I told you last year, your parents haven’t lived here in years. Please, stop coming back.”
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