Chapter 6: The House Across the Street
I stared at the old woman sitting on Ivy’s porch, then at Joel.
He wasn’t crying.
That scared me more than if he had been.
His backpack hung from one shoulder. His sneakers were dusty. His face was pale, but his hands were clenched tightly at his sides.
Ivy wiped her cheeks and pointed toward the woman.
“Your son found her,” she whispered.
I looked at Joel.
“Found who?””
The woman slowly stood.
She was probably in her seventies, with silver hair pulled into a loose bun and a cardigan buttoned all the way to her throat despite the warm afternoon.
She looked at me.
Then at Joel.
Then back at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
My stomach dropped.
“What are you sorry for?””
She opened her mouth.
Joel stepped between us.
“Mom, let her talk.””
I blinked.
That wasn't the voice of an eleven-year-old asking permission to stay up ten extra minutes.
It was the voice of a child who had seen something he couldn't unsee.
Ivy came closer.
“He brought her to my house because she was sitting outside yours.””
“What?””
Joel nodded.
“I saw her.””
The woman lowered her eyes.
I stared at her.
“What were you doing outside my house?””
She didn't answer.
Ivy did.
“She’s been there before.””
A cold sensation moved across my shoulders.
“How many times?””
Ivy swallowed.
“I don't know. Three. Maybe four.””
I looked at Joel.
“You never told me.””
“You told me not to stop anywhere.””
“That doesn't mean you don't tell me when someone is watching the house.””
“I didn't know she was watching us.””
The woman finally spoke.
“I wasn't watching you.””
“Then what were you doing?””
She reached into her cardigan pocket.
I instinctively pulled Joel closer.
She noticed.
“I understand why you're afraid.””
“Then don't reach into your pocket.””
Her hand froze.
Slowly, she pulled out a small photograph.
She held it toward me.
I didn't take it.
“What is that?””
“Your son found this.””
Joel looked at the ground.
Ivy whispered, “He found it in the bushes.””
I finally took the photograph.
It was old.
Faded.
The edges were curled.
It showed a little boy standing beside a woman in front of a house.
I recognized the house immediately.
Mine.
But the boy wasn't Joel.
He looked about six years old.
And the woman standing beside him was me.
Except the photograph had been taken nearly twenty years before Joel was born.
My fingers went numb.
“What is this?””
The old woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“His name was Daniel.””
I stared at her.
“I don't know anyone named Daniel.””
“You did.””
“No.””
“You just don't remember.””
Joel looked up.
“Mom…”
I turned to him.
“What?””
He pointed at the photograph.
“That's the man I told you about.””
My heart stopped.
“What man?””
“The one in the red truck.””
I felt my throat tighten.
“You've seen someone?””
“Not today.””
“When?””
He hesitated.
“Last Tuesday.””
Ivy covered her mouth.
“Joel, you never told us that.””
“He said not to.””
I crouched in front of him.
“Who said not to?””
Joel's eyes shifted toward the road.
“The man.””
“What did he say?””
“He said if I told you, you'd move away.””
The old woman began crying again.
I stood.
“Who is Daniel?””
She looked at the photograph.
“He was my son.””
“And why was he in front of my house?””
“Because this was his home.””
I shook my head.
“No. This is my home.””
She looked directly at me.
“Not originally.””
The words landed harder than they should have.
I looked at my house.
The white siding.
The blue shutters.
The maple tree Joel had climbed every summer since he was six.
Everything suddenly looked unfamiliar.
“What does this have to do with my son?””
The woman reached into her pocket again.
This time she pulled out an envelope.
On the front, written in black ink, was one word.
*Mara.*
My name.
I stopped breathing.
“I found it twenty years ago,” she said.
“And I've been trying to give it to you ever since.””
I stared at the envelope.
“Why didn't you?””
“Because the man who gave it to me told me that if I ever brought it to you, someone would get hurt.””
“Who?””
She looked at Joel.
“You.””
My son stepped closer to me.
I put an arm around him.
“Mom,” he whispered.
The old woman looked toward the end of the street.
Her face suddenly changed.
“Get inside.””
“What?””
“Now.””
Ivy turned.
A red pickup truck was slowly approaching.
Joel grabbed my hand.
“That’s him.””
The truck stopped across the street.
The driver's window rolled down.
And the man behind the wheel smiled.
He looked directly at my son.
Then he lifted his hand.
Not waving.
Pointing.
Straight at the house.
Then he drove away.
May you like
The old woman whispered one sentence that made my blood run cold.
“He knows you have the letter.””
