Mothman's Curse (19 page)

“That moth gets around,” he said between sips of his morning coffee, which he drank standing up before sauntering out toward the auction building to prep for the Goodrich auction do-over.

“Okay, so chances are we haven't stopped anything,” Fox said. “But maybe that's not such a bad thing. It gives us time to regroup, figure this out.”

I nodded, grateful he was staying positive. But we were desperately short on time and ideas.

“Hey, by the way, we're going to see Dad this morning. Aunt Barb said she'd take us.”

“We are?” I was equal parts thrilled and horrified. What would I say to him?

“Listen, I talked to him for a minute this morning,” Fox said.

“Does he know about the Mothman sightings?”

“Yes. Uncle Bill told him. He's pretty frantic about it all. He asked me if I saw it, if I thought it was real.”

“What did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“And?” I prompted. “What did he say?”

“Pretty much what we already guessed,” Fox said. “That he saw Mothman at the Goodrich house, but he didn't think anyone would believe him.”

“Did you say anything about the curse?”

Fox sent an uneasy glance toward the kitchen. “No. I thought I should talk to you first.”

Relief washed through me. If we told Dad, I wanted to be the one to do it.

“Josie, there's something else. They might let him come home tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow's Monday.” I felt sick knowing he might come home on the very day everything imploded. I should have been looking forward to having him back. Instead, all I could think about was how to get past him if he tried to stop me from going to the Field House.

When we got to the hospital, Dad looked almost like his old self. We all gave him huge hugs, and he hugged us extra tight right back. For Mason's sake, we kept talk of Mothman to a minimum. Then I asked if I could have a minute with Dad to myself. But as soon as we were alone, he told me how worried he'd been, how frustrating it was to be stuck in the hospital, and how glad he was to see us all safe.

So much for telling him about the curse. I couldn't do it. I managed to keep the tears from falling until I hugged him goodbye and left the room. Luckily Fox was the only one who noticed.

*   *   *

By the time we got home, I was barely keeping the panic at bay. “Fox, maybe we should divide and conquer,” I told him. “I can work on finding out more about the curse and ways to break it. And I need you and Mason to brainstorm every possible way to keep people out of the Field House tomorrow.”

“We're on it.” He ducked his head to look me in the eye. “How are you, really?”

“I'm functioning. That'll have to be enough for now.”

“Hey!”

Aunt Barb's voice from the kitchen nearly made me jump out of my skin.

“You people need to get a life. This is a private residence!”

Fox and I peeked into the kitchen. Aunt Barb was leaning out an open window, scolding a group of Mothman fans who'd gotten too close to the house.

“Those are flower beds, you ninny!” she shouted.

“You okay, Aunt Barb?” I asked from a safe distance.

She whirled on us, her face a mask of righteous fury. She pasted on a smile and smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt. “Everything is right as rain. I just have a little dispute to settle.”

She marched outside with a rolling pin in her hand. We heard her launch into a sermon about perennials and people with less sense than God gave a speck of dirt.

“Guess she's had her fill of Mothman,” Fox said.

“Me too.”

*   *   *

I headed back to Dad's office to try again. I sat at the desk, comforted by the reminders of Dad all around me: an antique wooden gavel, a bag of sunflower seeds, and a coffee mug we'd given him for Christmas that said,
AUCTIONEER BY DAY, NINJA BY NIGHT
.

I lapsed into a daze of morbid thoughts.
Would I ever get to drive a car? Kiss a boy? See the world?
I took apart the curse in my head, piece by piece, weighing my impossible options:

1. Be a horrible, selfish human being and let a lot of people die, then pass the curse on to someone else.

2. Try to stop the disaster, fail, and live with the guilt for the rest of my life. And still pass the curse on to someone else.

3. Die a hero but leave my family to grieve for another loved one.

I let myself imagine doing nothing, allowing others to be killed so I could keep breathing.
What if only ten people were in danger? Five? What if only one person was doomed to die in the disaster—someone who'd already lived a long, happy life? Could I ignore it then?

Yes
, I thought stubbornly, because I was young and had dreams, and because my family had already lost Momma.

No
, I thought with my next breath. If I could save even one person—someone with their own dreams and family—then I had to try. I felt sick that I could even think about acting as Elsie had. So much for option one.

I skipped over option two, since I couldn't bear to imagine letting all those people down.

Option three, then. Would it hurt to die? Maybe if it was just for a few seconds it wouldn't be so bad. Especially if I ended up saving lives. Maybe people would put up a statue of me, or start a scholarship in my name.

I cringed. Somehow it always came back to my own selfish wants.

Maybe that was Edgar's whole point.

So many questions nagged at me: Could Dad handle another loss? Would I become a ghost like John Goodrich? And the one question that had sunk its teeth into me and wouldn't let go:

Would I see Momma again?

 

 

15

All the worrying was wasting precious time. I forced myself to focus. I was about to reach for one of John's journals when a book from the storeroom caught my eye, called
The Lingering Spirit
. When I picked it up, it fell open to a dog-eared page with a chapter heading that read:
Suicides, Violent Deaths, and Other Earthly Traumas
.

I skimmed a highlighted passage:
Certain types of deaths are prone to creating spirits that linger on earth rather than passing to the other side. Crime victims, suicides, and those with a strong sense of unfinished business are the most commonly encountered class of ghostly manifestations. Eyewitness accounts confirm that these spirits are more likely to exhibit characteristics of the living, such as speech, a realistic human form, and the ability to manipulate solid objects.

I read it again. Suddenly it all made sense. John was dying, so he had ended his life early as a last-ditch effort to stay in the game, to offer his help. How
much
help he'd actually provided seemed iffy at best, but at least his heart was in the right place.

Sighing, I stared at something odd on a corner of the desk. I realized it was the remains of Mason's contraption, piled in a messy heap. I couldn't help a fond chuckle. It hadn't been such a bad idea, really. We did hear John's voice over the radios in the storeroom …

I sat up straighter. Could it really be that simple?

I glanced around the office and spotted a 1940s Bakelite radio on one of the shelves. It was one of Dad's favorite finds. But did it still work?

I took it down and plugged it in. I held my breath and switched it on.

Nothing … wait. The dials were lit up. Maybe it just wasn't tuned to any station. I turned up the volume and heard the hiss of static. I twisted the dial slowly, slowly, pausing each time I heard a voice, until—

“Josie.”

My head jerked up. John stood on the other side of the desk. I realized I was still wearing my sweatshirt from the night before, the pin jabbed through the sleeve.

“John?”

“Save them.” The voice was faint, wrapped in static, and layered as if several people were speaking together but couldn't quite get the timing right.

I stood slowly. “John, I can hear you! The radio!”

He looked as surprised as I felt. “Save them,” he said.

“Yes! Yes, save them! I hear you. Wait, I have to get Fox. Don't go anywhere!”

I found the boys in Fox's room and dragged them downstairs to the study. Once behind closed doors again, I declared, “John, say it again. Go ahead.”

“Save them.”

“You heard that, right?” I said.

“Yeah,” Fox said.

“Wow,” Mason said.

They both stared at the radio, spellbound. “You had the right idea, Mason,” Fox said.

Mason grinned.

“Save them.”

I huffed a frustrated breath. “Can't you say anything else? I just found out that the curse comes with a death sentence. I need answers, John. You killed yourself hoping your ghost could help us, right? Then
help us.
”

“Wait, really?” Fox said.

“Father. Your father,” John said. “Chose him to end it. There was a letter. In the safe. There was a letter.”

“We didn't find any letter, John,” Fox said. “Just a little scrap of paper with your favorite phrase on it.”

“Save them.”

“Yep. That's what it said.”

“It's like he's stuck,” I said. “Like his thoughts are getting scrambled between here and … wherever he is.”

“Save them. Save you. I died,” John said. “Died early. Early … to
save them
.
Save you.
”

“I thought you did it because you were too sick to stop the disaster,” I said.

“More. There's more,” John said. “I already died. Now save them.”

I closed my eyes, trying to fill in the missing pieces. “What if his death has already satisfied the curse?” I said. “So if we manage to stop the disaster, then I won't die and it all ends. That makes sense, right?”

I looked over at the boys for their reaction. Mason shrugged, but Fox looked thoughtful.

“Please tell us, John,” Fox said. “If we save them, does it mean Josie won't die after all?”

John looked at each of us in turn, eyes pleading. “Save them. Save you.”

“He doesn't know,” I said, disappointment turning my words brittle.

“But it makes sense. That's good enough for me,” Fox said, his jaw set. He turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Out.”

He swung the door wide and headed for the front entryway. Mason looked at me in alarm. “Josie?”

“Go and stall him,” I said. “I'll be right there.”

“Edgar is angry,” John said.

That made me pause. “You and Mothman are on a first-name basis? That's new.”

John bared his teeth; his eyes narrowed in sudden fury. Cold air crept along the floor from every corner and circled my feet. “Hate him. I hate him.”

I took a step back, unnerved by his change of mood. “I don't blame you, John. But I need to know. Do you know
for sure
that I won't die if we save those people?” He blinked at me, his anger fading, and shook his head.

“That's just great.”

His image began to flicker.

“No, don't go. Please, John, I need you, because I think Fox is about to do something really stupid!”

“Save them,” John whispered, and disappeared.

“Arrrrrggghhh!”
I kicked the desk before hurrying out of the study with a brisk limp. “Fox, where do you think you're going?”

“No more screwing around. We stop the disaster, you live. And I know a foolproof way, right now, to make sure there are no people in that building tomorrow.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing.” He wouldn't meet my eye. “I'll see you later.”

Mason clung to Fox's arm. He looked fearfully from me to Fox and back again.

“Fox.”

“The less you know, the better, Josie.”

“It doesn't work that way! We're in this together.”

“Not this time. I know you hate breaking the rules, but one of us has to, so better if it's me.”

“You really think you're gonna burn the Field House to the ground?” I snapped.

Mason's eyes got round and huge.

I herded them both into the kitchen. “The building is practically new. It's probably got all kinds of fancy systems to protect it.”

“All I have to do is damage it enough to cancel Monday's events. It's the only way to know for sure that we've stopped it.”

“No, it isn't. Say you manage to burn up some crucial support structure. What if people are in there tomorrow, looking for the cause of the fire, and the roof collapses?”

He huffed. “I'll figure something out. I'm not gonna let my sister die because of some stupid curse. Just let me end it!”

“No. I can't let you do this. John killed himself on a hunch—do you get that? He did something stupid out of desperation. Just like you're about to do. What if I drop dead the minute you set fire to the building?”