"Hey Scott," I called through his foyer as I started unzipping my rain jacket by the darkened front door, "Sorry I'm late!"
It smelled like pine-forest in here, pleasant and fresh.
"Keep that on," called a younger tenor than I was expecting.
"Caleb?" I wondered, leaning to look around the corner.
He appeared, tall and dark in the cramped hall. When his eyes found me, a hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. His thumbs snagged on his jeans' belt loops. Scott poked his head around the younger man's broad shoulders, standing a whole head shorter.
"Hey, Sara," Scott greeted, "Cal came by to drop off the salmon."
"As promised," Caleb confirmed with a dip of his chin, "And I also brought the necessary materials for an oil change. We cleared out the garage to get your car out of the rain, so all you've got to do is drive her in."
"Wow, thank you," I breathed, re-opening the front door and heading back out.
When I pulled into the garage, the last remnants of the rainwater tracked from the top of my car down the windshield. Through the rippling visage, I saw Caleb already standing at the ready in the yellow light. I slipped off my rain jacket tenderly, wincing at the sting of my shoulders. They were slow to heal given my empty stomach.
"I'll take your jacket," Scott offered.
I gratefully handed it over after a shake or two. The garage door swung shut and I turned to contemplate Caleb. He was staring at me with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils.
"What?"
"Something smells... burned."
I internally cursed, but clenched my jaw to stay my frustration at his attention to detail. He stepped close, suddenly, and I could nearly feel the heat of his body as he reached out an experimental hand. Quickly, I stepped out of range, eying him suspiciously.
"Sorry," he said, shaking his head, "It just smelled like..."
"Like what?" I prompted.
"Like burned skin."
"Oh, you know what that smells like?" I tried to joke.
"One of my asshat coworkers had an accident," he joked, then raised an eyebrow, "Or did he?"
"Be careful where you admit guilt," I countered, "You're on the Chief's turf."
"He ain't my Chief, but I see your point," Caleb grinned, playfully elbowing my shoulder.
A little, pained yelp escaped my mouth and Caleb's lips formed a thin line.
"You did that on purpose."
"You're hiding a pretty serious injury by the smell of it," he shrugged, but his eyes were tight with worry, "What happened?"
"Sunburn."
"Alrighty, Cal," Scott called as he came through the door, rubbing his hands together. Caleb gave me a pointed glare, but dragged himself away from the conversation to address my car. "Let's get started. Sara, sit back and relax."
He gestured excitedly to a little overturned crate that he'd draped an old towel over. I chuckled, but straightened my skirt, took the seat, and crossed my legs to watch the pair work.
"So the Romeros had a scare?" he prompted as Caleb began jacking the car up off the ground.
The jack creaked squeakily in protest at the weight.
"Yes, their grandmother had a really nasty fall down the stairs. But she's alright, she's stable now."
"The whole family's staying at the hospital?"
"They're all very close."
"I know Mr. Romero works from home and takes care of her since she's not terribly mobile," Scott said, frowning, "How did it happen? Is her dementia worsening?"
"Perhaps," I shrugged, "She looked really shaken up. I hope she recovers quickly."
"Can you pass the drain-pan, Scott?" Caleb asked, halfway under the car already. Only his long legs were visible as he lay on his back, staring up at the car's undercarriage.
"Sure thing."
"Go easy on Marvin," I warned Caleb, "He's pretty loud and grumbly, but I get the feeling he's a bit more fragile than he pretends to be."
"Marvin?"
"Like the Martian?" Scott clarified.
"Precisely."
"Most cars are girls, you know," Caleb informed me from underneath Marvin, "I feel weird working on a guy-car."
"Don't think about it," I suggested.
"We've had a wet couple of weeks but it's supposed to clear up for the next," Scott said, staring out the garage-door into the nighttime pouring rain, "With all that mud and no natural rinse, that car wash next Friday ought to be busy."
"It's supposed to be unseasonably warm that day with little chance of rain," I gushed excitedly, "We may get to wear t-shirts instead of bundling up. I'm spraying all my friends with the hose."
"I'll steer clear - "
"No you can't," I demanded of Scott, "I need your generous donation. Allie has big plans for the Winter Formal and I've been hearing about some cool senior projects. They need supplies."
"It's projected to be mid-to-high fifties, so I guess I'll dry off."
"Fifties-" I started with alarm, then caught myself; Fahrenheit. Right. "You're going to be in your car anyhow!"
Scott grumbled something under his breath as he readjusted his crouch.
"Senior projects, eh?" Caleb said, "Mine was making a wheelchair ramp for the local community center."
"Was that your own idea or did Ray bully you into it?"
"The old man was pretty salty about having to be 'unceremoniously transported' in order to play weekly poker," Caleb acknowledged. The sound of thick liquid pouring silkily into the pan could be heard from beneath Marvin, "But accidents happen. Timber and fishing ones especially. There are a couple of folks in the same boat and being able to interact with everyone on your own terms makes a difference."
"It's a great idea."
"Not too much work, either," he said, scooting out from under the car.
His black shirt scrunched up beneath him, rising up his hips.
"Probably a decent amount of money though."
He sat up and wrapped his arms loosely around his knees, not bothering to pull his shirt back down. With a sigh, I moved my gaze to firmly fix on the black rain. Only a little spittle illuminated within the beam of Scott's porchlight.
"If you hound the correct channels you can get it funded by the county or state or what have you. I had to get started my junior year on all of the paperwork, well my sisters mostly helped me, but when it got through, building was a breeze. So what are the ideas this year?"
"Some of the computer kids are updating the school computers and holding programming lessons," I remembered, then brightened, "And there's a girl working on a beekeeping club."
"Sounds like you're excited about that."
"I love honey."
"Honey in things or just honey?"
"Honey flavors, honey candy, honey, honeycomb..."
"You can eat the comb?" Scott wondered.
"As long as it's the honey-storage type."
"There are other types?"
"Well, yeah, I'm pretty sure they're baby bee nurseries too."
"Eat the honey, not the babies," Caleb noted somberly, "Got it."
Scott snorted lightly.
"So how's the job at the station, chief?" I prompted.
"Can't discuss ongoing cases, but I'm still ordering you kids to stay out of the woods," he said, standing up with a cracking of his knees, "No more deaths since that weekend, but I'm not optimistic. We've had a steady one to three deaths or missing persons every month since... well, I suppose the beginning of the summer? Maybe a little earlier?
"All law enforcement and rangers on the peninsula and surrounding area are banding together to get things sorted. I'd like to say we're done, but... a pair of folks reported seeing a bear in the Refuge this past weekend. Like it's getting closer to our town."
"A bear? Rabid again?"
"Well," his shoulders were near his ears, "One witness wasn't too sure since it was so big. He claimed its shoulders stood taller than his head and this fellow was six foot two already. The other said 'black bear' with city-type confidence, but... black bears just don't get that big."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Caleb fix his gaze on the floor between his feet.
"Have you seen tracks?"
"Nothing definitive," Scott said, shaking his head, "For the size of that bear, it must've left behind something but the park rangers said they saw no trace of normal-animal tracks. Definitely something though, just not recognizable."
I nodded absently before I caught Caleb's sidelong glance. It made sense that the skinchangers were being careful; they likely knew how to navigate the woods and cover their trails properly.
"What do you think will happen in the winter? Will it come into the towns here?"
Scott grimaced, "That's what the discussion turned to. If we're going to do something, go on a hunt or set traps, it needs to be done soon. But this is thousands of miles of various State and Federally protected land, we're talking about. Miles and miles of rough, mountainous and boggy terrain. There's no reasonable way to go about this; not to mention the paperwork on whether we even have the authority."
"No, there isn't..." Caleb sighed, then tilted his head to examine the draining oil.
He laid back, grabbing a little can, and scooted himself back under. Not long after was the light scape of the tin as he pushed the full-pan toward Scott. He quickly passed out another can, identical to the one he'd taken in with him, but more weathered. There was the little scuffle of a twist-cap and he shuffled his way back out, sitting up in one swift motion and rocking onto his feet only using his arms the slightest bit to swing himself upright.
When he caught me staring, he raised an eyebrow. I scowled, looking pointedly out into the rain again. He moved to take out the jack, then attended to the car's engine from the hood.
"You know where to dispose of that?" Caleb checked.
"Sure do," Scott bobbed his head, having pulled out an empty plastic bottle to pour the blackened liquid into, "I'll take it over on my lunch break tomorrow; it's too late today."
"Oh, Scott you don't have to - "
"It's alright kid, it's what... what's what you do," his voice grew gruff.
"Dinnertime?" I asked, smiling gently.
"At this rate you lot will starve before you know what to make," Caleb snorted.
"I looked up a recipe for salmon bake - "
"You can't just look up any old recipe and hope it goes okay," he interrupted, recapping the bottle he'd emptied into my engine and slamming the hood shut, "I'll teach you one; one that's got honey involved."
"Caleb, the sun's gone down and it's pouring. Ray's going to worry."
"Dad knows I can take care of myself. I'm an adult. Come on, I could hear your stomach rumbling from under the belly of the car."
"Fair's fair," Scott said defeatedly, "We ought to pay the man for his services."
"You mean owe him more for making us a home-cooked meal."
Scott winced at my logic, but smiled ruefully nonetheless.
"Look, Caleb - "
"You can call me Cal."
"Caleb, you don't have to donate a penny next Friday at the carwash. You can get it washed as many times as you want for free; Scott will cover your share."
"I thought the donations were voluntary!" Scott argued.
"Don't you want me to have a successful and fulfilling highschool experience?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips petulantly.
Scott huffed, "Get inside. The both of you."
Caleb grinned brightly, warming the little garage with his brilliant enthusiasm. Despite my better judgment, I returned a little smile but quickly followed after Scott. His kitchen was a quaint little thing with green-painted cabinetry and a floor with seventies-era, patterned tiling. Looking out the front of the house was a fishbowl-windowed breakfast nook with various bits and bobs scattered over the table beside it.
"Sorry for the mess," Scott muttered, rubbing his mustache, "And, I don't really know what I have so far as ingredients."
"I bought some - "
"I brought my own - "
I narrowed my eyes at Caleb.
"Is your stuff in the car?" he asked innocently.
"Yes," I confirmed, tossing him the keys, "Where's the bathroom, Scott?"
"Through that door, straight across the entryway."
"Got it," I nodded, excusing myself.
When I flipped the switch for the half-bath, the fan gave a putter and practically died out. A little layer of streaky grime coated everything, like it had only been wiped down with a paper towel but no cleaner.
I used the restroom and washed up, but stood in front of the mirror for a little while longer to inspect my reflection. Carefully, I pulled the wide collar of my rich-teal pullover down over my shoulder.
Quickly I stopped, sucking my teeth when the fabric pulled and peeled back at my skin. With an exhale from my stomach, the breath pushing out in a rush, I centered myself. It certainly wasn't the worst pain I'd felt, but it had taken me by surprise. Margret had become very powerful in a very short span of time.
Looking closely, I could see where my clear, olive skin curved over the crest of my shoulder. The warm tones were even, then turned raw-red before disappearing beneath the rough sweater texture. I swallowed, attempting another tug. A burst of pain seized me again and something wet seeped into the fabric. Apparently these had been bad enough to create bubbling, angry welts; I'd clearly just burst one.
"Shoot," I hissed, pulling the collar back up.
I straightened the outfit, then turned to inspect my shoulder and, to my dismay, saw a small, visible spot... well, perhaps not that visible, but Caleb would likely notice. Flipping off the fan, I returned to find Scott seated at the breakfast table, watching Caleb unpack the ingredients he'd brought with him.
"I can definitely make something with this," the young man appraised, "But damn, Scott, if this kitchen isn't in a state."
"I'm on it," I volunteered, moving to the cupboards under the sink and pulling out various cleaners.
"Come on now, it ain't that bad. You don't need to -"
"I have cleanliness standards," I said shortly.
Arming myself with a rag, I set to work.
"I'll get to cooking then," Caleb declared.
"Well, I'm sure not going to sit here and watch the both of you work," Scott grumbled, taking another rag and some warm water to the gas stove top.
Stretching my belly over the counter, I swiped at the side-splash laminate I'd sprayed. I gritted my teeth upon extension of my shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Caleb's eyes wandering.
Lemon-scent brightened the air of the kitchen, but was dwarfed by Caleb's efforts at the stove-top. When the kitchen had at least been done-over once, I moved to the bathroom.
"Come on, now," Scott groaned, but I ignored him.
It was tough work and I was dissatisfied without vacuuming or at least sweeping. Nevertheless, I made it smell nice at the very least.
"It's best to smoke it over a fire, but since it's so rainy, I suppose I can make do," Caleb was explaining to Scott when I returned.
I raised an eyebrow, "Do you normally ignore your kitchen to cook in your backyard?"
"Sure do," he said brightly, sloughing the salmon out of the pan in favor of a standby mix of spinach, tomato, onion, peppers and an array of spices in oil that I couldn't identify. "I've got a whole set-up I built from scratch to avoid the rain."
As he put on the first ingredients my stomach made the burbling, unceremonious sound of a sink draining. Clenching my teeth together didn't prevent the blush.
Caleb smirked, nipping a halved tomato out of the pan. He offered it up. I held out a tentative hand, palm up, and he dropped it in. The little grape tomato was just ripe and burst acidly over my tongue. I could sense the low bite of raw, mashed garlic and perhaps the spice of mustard seeds that it had been marinating in.
"Where'd you learn how to cook?" I wondered, watching as he expertly waited for the onions to become fragrant.
"Videos online," he enthused, but there's a contemplative edge to the tone, "Mom used to say it was important for a man to know how to cook properly for himself."
"Is she around?"
He turned halfway toward me as I leaned against the counter, his hand on autopilot to keep his ingredients moving around the pan.
"She passed away when I was about ten years old," he admitted, his tone off-color.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Don't be," he perked up quickly, consoling me with a warm, even smile, "It's ancient history."
"I remember her," Scott nodded, "Shannon. I have one of her watercolor paintings still hanging in the hall. She was a wonder with a paintbrush; Caroline took after her, right?"
"Caroline?"
"One of my older sisters. Caroline went off to the East Coast and Christina lives in Southern California."
"That's pretty far."
"Sure is. They're opposite the country from each other and I'm stuck up here."
"Stuck..." I repeated.
"A little," he waved a careless hand, "Some travel from time to time would be nice. Just need to save up the money."
"You don't need to go anywhere overseas, either," I said, threading my fingers together, "There's so many cool things in the States."
"Yellowstone," Scott proposed, smoothing his mustache with a thumb and forefinger, "I've always wanted to go..."
"That's a good one," Caleb said, gesturing for him to grab plates as he turned off the burner.
"Shenandoah National Park," I sighed, tilting my head back to remember pictures of it in my mind's eye.
"You've been?" Caleb wondered.
"No, but Appalachian lore has always fascinated me."
Caleb passed me a full plate, holding one of his own as Scott led into the dining room. Unceremoniously, he swept an arm over the table to clear off half of it of old mail before letting us each choose a seat.
The salmon looked delicious, drizzled with a glaze of some kind as it was seared in the pan; probably where Caleb had incorporated the honey. He watched me as I investigated the sauteed side-dish, but I pretended not to notice.
"What kind of lore is there to have over in Shenandoah?" Scott wondered.
"All kinds," I enthused, spearing some of the side dish then cramming a flake of salmon on the end of my full-fork. The combined flavors resonated in my mouth as I chewed, a whirlwind blend of sweet, spice, and umami that stirred up my stomach; I almost winced to realize just how hungry I truly was. I recollected myself. "There's Bigfoot, the Bell Witch, the Brown Mountain Lights, Haints... and plenty more."
"You like supernatural stories?" Caleb wondered.
He suddenly became hyper-focused on spearing tomatoes.
"Love them."
"What's a haint?" Scott asked.
"It's a sort of evil spirit, almost a demon. They're obsessive-compulsive, though. To deter them, you place a straw broom on the outside of your front door or hang a newspaper on your hallway wall. They have to stop what they're doing to count every bristle on the broom or letter on the newspaper."
"Ha!" Scott snorted, "Don't seem so scary like that!"
"What do they do if they get you though?" Caleb wondered, "Count the hairs on your head?"
"They attach to their victim and haunt them until their exhaustion; either until the victim becomes sick and dies or does the deed themselves."
"So they're basically just ghosts or poltergeists?"
"Poltergeists, maybe, ghosts, no - "
"Why do you know so much about this sort of thing?" Caleb interrupted through his full-mouth.
"Swallow first, sir."
He did.
I pointed my fork imperiously at him, "I know these things because I was a kid once upon a time."
"Yeah but - "
"You never sat around a campfire and told ghost stories?"
"Of course I did."
"Well there's your answer," I shrugged, realizing that I was half out of salmon, "I was just a better fireside listener than you were."
Caleb snorted, but gave up the point. I leaned back in my chair, the old-wood creaking beneath me, and rolled out my shoulders. Nothing was stuck anymore, nothing twinged. Sighing with satisfaction, I looked eagerly back toward the kitchen, knowing that I was going to need seconds. Caleb caught my eye, his brown ones glittering knowingly.
"Don't worry, I made extra."
I pressed my lips together, but went back to my plate with renewed enthusiasm in spite of myself. Caleb paused however, staring down at my plate curiously. He chewed on a thought, fork gripped tightly in his fist, then decided to out with it.
"Do you think we have any haints out in our mountains?"
"It's possible. But the Appalachian mountains are far older than the mountains here; there has been more opportunity for history to shed blood on them."
"There's no sense putting much stock in it anyway," Scott shook his head, "Aside from setting our hair on end for a good story, stuff like that ain't much use worrying over."
"I think there's some truth to it. There are some things you should do that originate from ghost stories. Good habits."
Scott glanced skeptically, "Like what?"
"If you're out in the wilderness and you hear your name called or you hear whistling, you ought not to respond; particularly if you know you came out alone. Don't want anything to get the jump on you by handing out your location."
"Still seems pretty superstitious."
"But now that I've said it, you're going to second guess yourself next time you're out in the woods, right?"
Scott grumbled.
"It's spooky for sure," Caleb agreed, his eyes tightening, "But I agree. Weird stuff happens out in the woods."
"You sound like you'd be a good storyteller; you saving up stories for the Bonfire?" Scott asked.
"I hadn't thought about it, but now that you mention it, I think I'll prepare a few."
"Where's it being held?" Caleb asked.
"It's on Stellar's Campground."
"Oh, right, that's village-owned," he nodded, "And right on the beach too. It's a safe area."
I tilted my head, noting the assessment.
"Seconds?"
I held out my plate.
The salmon finished off before I did and I tried to clench my stomach to suppress greedy grumbles. We helped Scott clean up as he complained to us about how unnecessarily helpful we were. I managed to coax a fishing-supply list out of him after mentioning Trevor's generous offer for a discount, but it wasn't without a mess of crumpled twenties from his wallet.
It was ten when I next looked at the clock and fatigue dragged at my bones. Scott rummaged through his papers in the dining room for his calendar so that he had the car wash and bonfire squarely on his schedule.
"You going to make it home safe?" Caleb asked as I picked up my coat from the rack beside the front door.
"Sure will," I said through a wide yawn.
Before I realized what he was after, before I'd finished yawning, he put a hand experimentally on my shoulder.
I mock-winced and stepped out of range, "Stop it."
He blinked, worry washing over his face again, "You're hurt; why?"
"It's really not your business."
"If you're in a situation - "
"I'm not," I growled.
"Why won't you explain it? Why won't you let me see it?"
"It's scandalous for a maiden to show a man her shoulders."
"I'm serious," his voice hardened, but his eyes pleaded.
"Why don't you believe me?" I countered with a bitter laugh, "We may not know each other well, but I assure you, I am capable of handling myself."
His teeth clenched, "But you won't tell me the truth?"
"Not a ghost of a chance."
His humor had long-since dried up, his shoulders sagged, and his mouth tilted toward a saddened frown, "Just know I'm here, okay?"
I sobered, chewing on my lower lip. Eventually, I nodded.