Chapter two

St. Alexander’s

“’NIKKA STARLING, GRADE EIGHT. LATE TO CLASS WITH NO EXCUSE. PUNISHMENT: FIFTEEN

MINUTES IN HALLWAY, ONE AFTER SCHOOL DETENTION.

~Madame Gordon.’”

I had my head tilted slightly to one side, so that I could read the punishment card hanging about my neck for the

third time. I had been standing outside my French classroom for what felt like hours, with this hideous notecard

suspended around my throat, watching any other students passing by me point, giggle, and whisper to their companions.

When I just about finished counting the number of tiles on the floor, I had switched to reading the message against my

chest over and over again. This seemed like an awful lot just because I had shown up to school five minutes after the

bell rang.

Though considered one of the most elite schools in the country, I hated St. Alexander’s Junior High. It definitely

showed that everyone here thought highly of themselves. Between the hideous, identical school uniforms and strict

enforcement of rules, it was almost like all the students here were enlisted in the Marine Corps or something. And the

French teacher whose class I was currently supposed to be in, Madame Gordon, had to be one of the worst instructors

possible. She had worked at St. Alexander’s for as long as everyone could remember (which had to make her at least 125

years old), with hair dyed a hideous toilet brown that was always pulled back into a tight, circulation-stopping bun. She

had a pair of beady gray eyes that pierced out through the huge, wide-rimmed spectacles that rested on the bridge of her

squashed, pug-looking nose, like she had walked into a wall. She had the most ugly posture as well, and it left us all

guessing how she could stay atop her feet - her chest and stomach were always thrust out, though she was bent over

like a warthog, and I always had the unusual feeling that she must have gotten kicked in the rear by a horse or something

when she was a child. She definitely didn’t seem to mind the boot camp-esque atmosphere and on the contrary seemed

to enjoy it. She was brutal with ancient punishments and allowed no exceptions, and I could swear on my life that I had

seen a poor Pilgrim girl standing outside a classroom with a punishment card in a history book somewhere.

That’s why I was stuck out in the hallway and dreading later in the week when she could finally stay after to

supervise my detention. After the previous night’s fiasco, I had slept through my alarm and as a result only had time to

shove myself into my repulsive uniform and rush out the door (without even having time to tell anyone about the

necklace, let alone check on its position inside my jewelry box) but still arrived after the bell had sounded. Since then, I

had been in this same position outside the classroom as part of my punishment.

I heard loud giggling coming from down the hallway, and after angrily glaring over towards its creator (thinking

it was another mocking student), noticed two girls chatting lively as they walked side by side. One was relatively short,

with long, wildly curly dark brown hair and green eyes, wearing the same white blouse (which was incredibly tight and

short on purpose) and plaid skirt that I wore. The other was taller, with wider shoulders, and black hair (with some

subtle streaks of red from past failed colorings) held back lazily in a messy bun. She was dressed in the uniform as well.

Both continued walking, seemingly immersed impartially in an engaging conversation, and probably would have

strutted obliviously by me if I hadn’t said a firm, “Hey, guys.”

Both girls stopped abruptly, turning to face me, then broke out into smiles. “Hey, Nikka!” the one with curly

hair greeted, whose name I knew was Lydia Hurley, holding up one hand in an enthusiastic wave. I had known Lydia

much longer than I had known Kandy (our parents had been friends even before we started school), and as a result we

became very close friends. Unfortunately, as the years passed we slowly drifted apart, mostly because our personalities

became so dramatically different from each other, but we still retained a friendship, though not as close as before, and

called each other now and then to update the other on our lives.

“Starting a little early today, aren’t you?” the other girl, Megan Dalton, teased, motioning towards the card around

my neck. Megan was a relatively new student who had moved to Chester only two or so years back, and we too

became friends rather quickly. We share a lot of the same interests and hobbies, along with the same problems, so I like

to think that both Megan and I will remain close as the years pass. “Don’t you usually wait till at least third period to get

in trouble?”

“Ha ha, you guys, ha ha,” I laughed sarcastically, crossing my arms. “I’m in Madame Gordon’s class, so of

course I’m out here.”

“Ooh, the Gremlin’s class!!” Lydia giggled. “She hates you, doesn’t she?”

“Sure seems like it,” I replied with a sigh.

“Hey, Kandy says you’re not coming to the movies with us tonight to go see the new Russ Caldwell movie,”

Megan piped up matter-of-factly. “What’s up with that, huh??”

“Believe me, guys, I’d rather go with you!!” I exclaimed. “But I told this stupid family I’d babysit for them

tonight, and it’s too late to say no. I’m really sorry. Besides, she already told me what happens.” I jerked my thumb over

at Lydia.

“Hey, you didn’t stop me,” she answered.

“Heh, I bet you’re lying,” Megan taunted jokingly. “I bet you’re just afraid to leave your house in the dark!! Ha

ha!”

“Huh??” I blinked.

“Yeah, you know what, I bet that’s it!!” Lydia agreed with a laugh, giving me a playful poke on the shoulder.

“Ooh, Nikka, the creepy bogeyman’s coming for your organs, ooooooohhhhh!!” She began to dance around me, waving

her hands in a mocking mystical gesture.

“What the heck are you guys talking about??” I questioned, bewildered.

Both stopped laughing abruptly, staring at me through disbelieving eyes. “....Wait a sec, Nikka, you mean you

didn’t hear??” Megan asked me in confusion, drawing up next to me and staring at me as though I sprouted three other

heads.

“Hear what?” I asked, glancing shakily around at their wondering faces around me.

“The murder, you idiot!!” Lydia cried in amazement.

“What??” I exclaimed.

“That’s why we were surprised you hadn’t heard about it,” Megan said, nodding in agreement with my shock.

“At about quarter to four this morning.”

“It’s all over the newspapers and everything,” Lydia agreed. “It’s, like, the second murder in Chester in almost

100 years, do you live under a rock, Nikka??”

“....A...a murder??” I stuttered in disbelief. “....But...but who....?”

“I think the newspaper said his name was Mr. Adamson, or something,” Megan said, looking thoughtfully up at

the ceiling. “Some old rich guy who lived in the historic district of Chester. Right near you, Nikka.”

I remained silent, but I could feel the lump that had settled in my throat.

“They think that he was dragging his garbage cans down his driveway before the truck came to pick then up,”

she went on. “But...but they’re not quite sure what happened next. All they know is that the police found him a good

three or four blocks away, strung from a tree in the forest.”

“...Ugh...” I lifted a disgusted hand to my throat. This couldn’t be real. “...What...what happened to him...?”

Both girls exchanged nervous looks. “....Ummmmm...” Lydia began tentatively, wringing her hands together.

“...That’s....that’s the creepy part about it, Nikka...”

“...When...when the police found him in the woods, they could tell something was wrong...” Megan continued,

avoiding eye contact as she slid her eyes apprehensively over towards the wall. She seemed to be fidgeting a lot. “...He

was pretty rich, so it was no surprise that his watch and other expensive jewelry were missing, but.......”

“But what??” I said impatiently. I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What was the matter??”

“.........Ummmmm....” Lydia glanced back and forth, making sure the hallway was clear, then leaned forward and

lowered her voice to a whisper. “....All of his organs were missing.”

I bent in closer to hear her, and at first her words didn’t register. Then all at once I leapt backwards - into the

wall - with a terrified, “What?!?”

“Shhhhhhh!!!” Lydia hissed, lifting a finger to her lips. “Shut up!! We could get in trouble if we were found out

here, we told Mr. McBride we were going to the bathroom!!”

“...Wha....what do you mean his organs were missing??” I stammered, forcing my voice to lower a notch.

“...How...how is that...”

“The police don’t know either,” Megan replied shaking her head. “All they know that when they pulled him

down from the tree and lifted up his shirt....his organs were missing.”

“All of them, completely gone,” Lydia continued. “Heart, lungs, stomach, you name it. But the police could tell

they were dealing with a pro, because they were all removed with one clean cut, no mess at all. This guy obviously

knows what he’s doing.”

“...But...but why would anyone want to take someone’s organs??” I stammered in horror. “That’s so

disgusting....I mean, I can understand taking his watch and stuff, but his stomach...??”

“No one has any idea,” Megan answered with a shrug. “They’ve got search teams patrolling the entire town,

and the police are running a search on any suspects. I think the top two whose past crimes are kinda similar to this one

are some guy named Omar Manning and another who’s nicknamed ‘Bloody J.’ But neither of them live anywhere around

here. As a matter of fact, I think Bloody J lives in Djibouti, or something.”

“...So...so wait a second...” I stammered vapidly. “You...you mean to tell me...they didn’t catch the guy?? He’s

still on the loose??”

Neither girl replied, but by the anxious glances they shot at each other, I could tell they really didn’t have to.

“The police are doing all they can,” Megan piped up in a reassuring tone of voice, noticing my frightened expression at the

thought of a maniac loose in my neighborhood. “And stuff about him is all over the news. I don’t think he’d dare attack

again.”

I leapt at least five feet in the air as the door snapped open behind me, but after one terrified glance over my

shoulder, I could recognize the icy eyes of Madame Gordon standing before me. “Ça suffit, Nikka,” she gargled in her

deep, manly voice. Her greasy brown hair, stretched tightly across her skull, reflected the ceiling lights overhead with a

blinding gleam. “Come back inside now, and take off that card. And you two, revenez à votre classe, s’il vous plaît.”

Both Megan and Lydia gave me a silent wave and wink, then immediately whirled about on their heels and

clicked madly down the hallway. No one wanted to mess with the Gremlin.

“Now,” Madame Gordon barked to me, turning about to enter the classroom once again and jerking me after her

with her head. Instantly I lifted the card over my head and strutted in after her. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson this

time, Mademoiselle Starling,” she continued, snatching the card from my hands and pointing me over towards my vacant

desk at the back of the crowded classroom. “I will not tolerate such insolence when it comes to my class,

comprendez-vous? And if your actions do not change, neither will your punishment. Asseyez-vous, s’il vous plaît.”

Somewhere outside my buzzing subconscious I could hear the sound of the Gremlin droning on and on in

unrecognizable French, but her voice seemed muffled by my screaming thoughts. For the rest of the class, I could

concentrate on nothing else except the growing fear rising in my stomach, and the fuzzy picture in my head of an old

man hanging upside-down from a tree. Unsurprisingly, I soon found myself face-to-face with an angry Madame Gordon,

who had noticed my distracted expression and was repeatedly screeching, “Fais attention! Fais attention!!” But I couldn’t

seem to focus on anything else for the rest of the day, and I hardly gave a second thought to my leaving without Kandy at

the end of the day until I was walking alone past her street.

My trek home seemed much longer than usual that day, I guess simply because I was by myself and that I kept

stopping to glance back and forth to look for any suspicious characters that might be lurking in the trees. Eventually I

reached the sloping driveway to my house, even though it was probably close to half an hour later than usual, and with

weary, exhausted steps I slowly climbed my way up towards the ominous building atop the hill. I was digging into my

pocket for my house key (no one else was home - both my parents were still working, Matthew had basketball practice,

and Jared had a class until five o’ clock) when I suddenly noticed something odd. I did a double take, then shifted a step

backwards and gazed in confusion up towards the second story windows above me. The panes showing into my room

were completely fogged over with steam.

I stared blankly at them for a second, then finally retrieved my key, tore it from my pocket, and strutted back

towards the door. “What in the world...?” I muttered to myself, struggling to hang on to the key in my numb hands and

having even more trouble inserting it into the keyhole. “Oh, this is all I need, between the crows and the murder, now

all that’s missing is a freaking gas leak in my - ” I fell silent as I finally slid my key into the knob, but the door creaked

open a few inches without me doing anything. I stood with my mouth hanging open, then pulled out my key and twisted

the knob a couple times. “What is the matter with this door? Is the lock broken now or something??”

I shoved the key back into my pocket, then opened the door completely, stepped inside, and shut it behind me.

“Hello??” I called loudly, my voice reverberating off the wooden walls around me. “Is anyone home?? The door was

open!” I waited for several seconds, but no reply came.

I pulled my sweater off my shoulders and threw it carelessly onto the table near the closet, but my hidden

passageway was far from my mind. I made my way towards the stairs, then drew back with a gasp as I felt a sudden

breeze of hot, sticky air brush against my face. “OK, now what the heck is going on?!” I huffed irritably, stomping my

way up the stairs. The heat was growing worse. It was definitely emanating from somewhere upstairs.

I finally made it onto the second story, now sweating noticeably from the humid air wafting around me.

“...D....Damn it...!!” I swore angrily, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand and continuing down the hallway

towards my room (it was definitely getting stronger, and I was starting to feel kind of faint). “This is ridiculous!! Is the

whole world against me?!”

I finally reached my bedroom door, which was tightly latched shut (had I left it that way in the morning??

Maybe I had accidentally closed it when I had run out in a hurry??), and grabbed hold of the knob. With an irritated

exhalation of air, I twisted the knob and flung open the door, then was immediately sent staggering backwards with an

aggravated but startled cry.

As soon as my door had been ripped open, a huge, sticky cloud of hot steam had gushed outwards into the

hallway, smothering me in an unexpected blanket of humid tendrils. My sight had gone blurry due to the thick quilt of

fog, and now my perspiration had grown so much worse, pouring down my face in large droplets. I covered my mouth

with my hand, attempting to block out the choking haze, then steadily made my way forward, deeper into the dense

cloud.

My room was even hotter and stickier than the rest of the house, completely enveloped in oppressive steam

and the heavy feeling of water. Instantly I groped my way blindly towards the far wall, until I finally skimmed my hand

over what felt like my window, ripped open the latch, and slid it upwards, permitting a refreshing, icy blast of cold

December air to surge into the room. It took several seconds for the steam to thin significantly enough that objects were

gradually coming back into view, and I began to wave my arm to force more of the fog out through the window. “...I...I

don’t get it!!” I coughed angrily, gazing about my room at the seemingly untouched furniture, save the vanity mirror that

was misted with a thick glaze of condensation. “What...what in the world could have caused that?? Did someone leave

the heat on or something?! But why did only my room fog up?! Ooh, and I thought this house couldn’t get any more

impossible...!!”

All of a sudden my mind fell to my necklace.

I’m not sure why it did. Maybe because I connected the two oddities together and decided to remember it.

Whatever the reason, I found myself swaggering over to my jewelry box atop my dresser and pulling off the top,

revealing the exquisite elliptical medallion gazing up at me. It looked just as it did the night before, except its red gem

had misted from the humidity (and it was glowing slightly? No, that was my imagination, I’m sure of it). I stared down at

it for a second, then reached down to pick it up. I immediately withdrew with a sharp, “Ouch!!”

The pendant had turned scalding hot, searing my skin with a fiery metallic burn. I held my wounded hand for a

moment, gaping blankly down at it with heaving breaths, then shakily reached downwards again. It remained cool and

icy, like it had been the night before in the attic. But it had been so hot, I was sure of it! I could even cast a glance down

at the blistering scab on my palm as proof!

At this point my room had almost entirely cleared itself of mist; as a matter of fact, it had grown slightly chilly

from an excess of cold wind blowing in from the outside. Still holding my necklace in a tight fist, I sauntered over to the

window, slid it shut, and fastened the latch once more. My eyes kept falling to the mysterious medallion in my hand,

staring casually up at me through its bright red iris. There was something so incredibly odd about this treasure....but of

course, it couldn’t have caused any of the strange things that had happened! That was just purely bizarre coincidence! A

piece of jewelry is just that, a piece of jewelry.

Slowly my eyes drifted up towards my digital clock, whose numbers were finally visible again since the

condensation clinging to it had at last dissipated. Its glowing green digits read a bright “3:46 p.m.,” and with a gasp I

suddenly remembered my baby-sitting job at the Davises, which I had been talking and complaining about for days and

had finally forgotten about the most inconvenient time. I had exactly 14 minutes to dash from my current spot to twelve

blocks down the road. It was going to be a stretch, but I was almost sure I would make it if I left at exactly that

moment.

I was heading towards the door when I realized my necklace was still clenched in my hand, and I was about to

turn about and place it back inside my jewelry box when my eyes darted to my clock once again. 3:47 p.m. I didn’t

have time.

I looked back down at the necklace, watching my expression reflected in it crimson jewel, then exhaled a

impatient breath, flung the chain over my head, and slipped the shining gold pendant inside my collar. With that final

hesitation, I whirled back around, sprinted out into the hallway, down the stairs, and finally back onto my front porch,

leaping down the three wooden steps before dashing out towards the road.

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