The Haunting of Gabriel Ashe (13 page)

MONDAY WAS THE START of Slade Middle School’s weeklong Halloween countdown. An event had been planned for every day, concluding with a haunted house maze in the high school gymnasium on Friday afternoon, Halloween. The kickoff was a bake sale supporting the town’s athletic programs.

After the last bell, people gathered in the lobby. Folding tables displayed the donated goods. There were plates filled with cookies and several different kinds of cakes and pies, as well as sweet and savory breads. An enormous bowl containing what looked like a mixture of chocolate mousse, whipped cream, and ladyfinger wafers sat upon the middle table as a centerpiece. A jumbo wooden spoon pierced the dessert’s gooey heart. The aroma wafting through the halls was mesmerizing. Soon, students and parents swarmed the spread. Faculty volunteers passed money back and forth as the treats slowly disappeared into backpacks and canvas sacks and, of course, salivating mouths.

Gabe had shown up early and purchased the largest chocolate chip cookie he could find, then stood back, picked at it, and waited for his friends to show up. That weekend, he’d taken an overnight trip into Boston with his grandfather to see the aquarium and the Museum of Science while his parents visited their old property. He didn’t have a chance to check in with anyone back in Slade, but they never reached out to him either. So things with Seth seemed to have finally quieted. Maybe the conversation between Gabe and his friends in the library on Friday had done the trick.

Something in Gabe’s gut whined it wasn’t as simple as that.

“Yo!” a voice shouted in his ear.

Gabe nearly dropped the cookie. He turned to find Malcolm standing behind him, already doubled over with silent laughter. Gabe forced a laugh too.

“Where are the girls?” Malcolm asked when he was able to breathe again.

“Haven’t seen ’em.”

“That’s odd. Felicia said she’d be here with her mom’s famous Death by Chocolate cake. She’s so proud.”

Gabe pointed toward the eighth-grade hallway beyond the bake sale tables. Looking frazzled, Felicia clutched a plate carrying a massive Bundt cake, thick with black frosting. Mazzy and Ingrid followed a few steps behind her, purposely keeping their distance. Felicia placed the cake on the table, smoothed her hair, and then, as if by magic, transformed her face into one that exuded joy and serenity. Better for sales, Gabe figured.

The other girls made their way to the middle of the lobby.

“Something wrong?” Malcolm asked.

Ingrid shook her head. “Oh, you know how she is. The frosting got messed up in the refrigerator in the teachers’ lounge. She had to make it perfect before the debut.”

“It looks delicious anyway,” said Mazzy.

“Should we show some support?” Gabe asked. “Before it’s all gone?”

“We’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t,” said Malcolm, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, the things we do for our friends,” said Mazzy. Gabe thought he heard a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but she simply smiled as if everything was as peachy as warm cobbler.

Felicia was busy cutting thin slices of her chocolate Death. She
looked like she was in heaven now—the frosting crisis forgotten. She glanced up and saw her friends approaching. She waved them forward and mouthed,
Hurry!

“I saw Seth in school today,” Mazzy whispered into Gabe’s ear.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was near the principal’s office with one of the guidance counselors. I smiled at him. He smiled back.”

Gabe felt horrible. About so many things. “Well, that’s good,” he said in spite of himself.

Mazzy bit her lip. “There’s more.”

“More?”

Mazzy picked at her cuticles for a moment. When she answered, her voice was soft, barely perceptible. Gabe had to lean close to hear her. “Over the weekend,” she said, “I went to see him.”

His skin felt like an electric current was running through it. “At his house? Alone?” Mazzy nodded. He glanced at Malcolm and Ingrid, who were lost in their own conversation. “Why would you do that?”

“Someone had to,” she said. “I would have asked you to come, but after last week, I had the sense you weren’t really game.” Gabe sighed, but she went on. “Everyone’s been tossing around blame. I figured I’d ask him about it myself. And I’m glad I did. I feel like we made a real connection.”

Gabe shuddered. “About what?”

She paused, secret thoughts playing out in her head. “Well, he explained that he’d been home from school for most of last week because his mom lost her job. He was afraid to leave her there alone.”

A pang of guilt rippled in Gabe’s gut. “Really?”

“I told him what’s been going on here at school. With poor Vincent Price. With the trap we found in the woods after the field
hockey game. He looked genuinely worried. But he denied having anything to do with it.”

“Of course he would,” said Gabe, trembling, showing more hurt than he’d meant to reveal. “That’s what he does.”

Mazzy pressed her lips tightly, then shrugged. “Maybe we can go visit him together. See if he’s all right. See what’s going on with his m—”

The room rocked. People screamed and fell away from the tables, knocking into others, spilling everyone backward like dominoes.

With a ringing in his ears, Gabe realized that there’d been an explosion. Mazzy was clutching his arm. He found that he was clutching hers as well. They had been far enough away and had managed to stay on their feet. Others weren’t so lucky. Ahead, several people were sprawled out on the linoleum floor, apparently too stunned to get up.

From the looks of the bake sale, the target had been one of the desserts. Remnants of what looked like crust and fruit compote were splashed across the crowd. Little bits of black icing clung to the ceiling, looking strangely like blood. After a moment, Gabe realized it was what was left of Felicia’s cake.

The throng slowly realized what had happened. People turned to the exits and pushed forward, trying to escape the lobby. Their energy was becoming increasingly frenzied. Malcolm and Ingrid were caught up with the crowd and soon disappeared past the double doors.

Gabe was still too befuddled to move. He planted his feet and knocked shoulders with anyone who came close. Mazzy did the same.

From the opposite side of the table, the vice principal, Ms. Yorne, raised her arms and signaled for attention a few moments too late. Frosting speckled her pale skin. “Please, everyone, stay
calm. Do not panic!” As she spoke, someone pulled the fire alarm. The crowd shouted collectively, like the cheering section at a local football game, and pushed even harder to reach the doors. Some of them were getting crushed.

Gabe and Mazzy broke toward the side of the lobby and leaned against the cinderblock wall, barely escaping the wave. Mazzy nudged Gabe and pointed toward the tables. Felicia sat on the floor behind what was left of her display, her spine hunched and her legs splayed in front of her. The two squeezed past a few stunned stragglers.

Mazzy bent cautiously toward Felicia. “Hey!” she shouted over the loud buzzing of the fire alarm. “You okay?” She lifted Felicia’s chin. Her blue eyes were glazed, unseeing, but when Mazzy poked her shoulder, Felicia flinched.

“What…what happened?” Felicia said, noticing her friends.

“We don’t know,” said Gabe. “Let’s get you out of here.” Mazzy helped Felicia to her feet. Gabe crouched and looked around. There was shattered ceramic and glass everywhere. Several singed dollar bills fluttered to the ground. The multitude of coins strewn about the floor made it look like the bottom of a wishing well. Amidst the destruction, most everything seemed to be covered in pitch-black frosting. The blast had likely originated near Felicia’s dessert. If her cake hadn’t been famous before, it certainly would be now.

Gabe was overcome by the need to laugh. He raised his hand to his mouth to hide an uncontrollable grin. An explosive Death by Chocolate cake? Either it was a terrible coincidence, or someone had been trying to make a very silly pun.

“Gabe!” Mazzy shouted from the other side of the table. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” He stood and at that moment he noticed a different sort of object lying on the floor. This one was a thin, burnt string
connected to a small twist of blackened paper, the ends of which were ash.

Gabe recognized it—he’d seen something similar only weeks ago in the woods, at the altar of the crooked tree. He’d located the remains of an M-80.

THAT EVENING, GABE SAT curled up on the couch next to his baby sister. The television murmured from across the living room. Elyse sat in her recliner and watched a game show, but he wasn’t paying attention. The sound of the fire alarm at school still echoed in his head.

Miri burbled something nonsensical. The phone rang. Elyse got up and sauntered down the hall to answer it. Moments later, from the kitchen, she called for Gabe’s parents to pick up.

When she came back into the living room, she stared at Gabe, looking like she was about to say something. Instead, she turned around, disappeared into the darkness of the hall. Her cold expression chilled Gabe even more than the prospect of seeing his father’s puppet walking around by itself.

That afternoon, Gabe had told his family about the bake sale disaster. He left out the part about finding the M-80; that was his secret for now. His mother and father had listened, nodding with concern, but almost immediately afterward, they had gone back to discussing plans to rebuild Milton Monster. As it turned out, the producers had seen potential in the new project and given Glen another shot.

Gabe straightened, trying to hear the telephone conversation from across the house. All he caught were hushed murmurs and pieces of words. He listened to the clack of the receiver being put back into the cradle. Now his parents were whispering to each other.

Seconds later, they appeared in the doorway, both looking pale, their expressions slack, as if they’d just gotten news heavy enough to break a camel’s back.

“Did someone die?” Gabe asked, sitting up straight on the couch. He’d meant it to be a joke, but no one laughed. Miri clung to his arm, her little fingernails digging into his skin. He tried to pull away, but she had too strong a grip.

“Not yet,” said Dolores. Her face filled with color. Too much color. She turned red. Stepping closer, she lifted Miri away. The baby whined and reached for Gabe, but he didn’t move. “That was your principal on the phone. He was not happy.”

Gabe was too baffled to respond.

“He wants us to meet with him first thing tomorrow morning,” said Glen. “You too, buddy.” He said
buddy
in the way you say
buddy
when you mean the opposite.

“For what?” Gabe asked. Now his own face felt flush. Burning up.

“Something about what happened at the bake sale,” said Dolores. “Something about it being your fault.”

They arrived at the school early, before any of the buses had shown up, before most of the staff had even pulled into the parking lot. Gabe had not slept at all the night before. It had felt as though the shadows in his bedroom were watching him, and if he closed his eyes, they’d come at him with hidden claws.

He followed his parents through the main entrance. Miri was at home with his grandmother. He’d begged them all to believe him that he’d had nothing to do with the bake sale fiasco, that there must have been some sort of misunderstanding. Eventually, his parents considered what he was saying, but it had taken so much convincing, he decided not to share the rest of the story.
About the shadow, about the game, about how very frightened he was of Seth Hopper. Not yet.

The principal’s office was smaller than Gabe expected.

“Please,” said Mr. Drover, standing behind his desk, “have a seat.” Ms. Yorne, the vice principal, was there too, leaning against a crowded bookcase, looking much more put together than the last time Gabe had seen her.

He and his parents squeezed onto the stools that the secretary, Mrs. Closkey, arranged for them. The adults all shook hands, a formality that made Gabe uncomfortable, as he was very pointedly left out of it. Mr. Drover sat down in his large leather chair and spoke. “We asked you here this morning because we believe that your son was responsible for yesterday’s incident.”

Glen sighed. “Gabe says he didn’t do it,” he said, “whatever
it
was.”

Mr. Drover and Ms. Yorne nodded, as if they’d expected this reaction. They both turned toward Gabe. “You can come clean now,” Mr. Drover said. “I promise you, it’ll be less embarrassing for you if you do.”

“But I didn’t—”

“We have proof,” Ms. Yorne interrupted. “We have so much proof it’s not even funny.”

Gabe closed his mouth and squirmed in his seat. He wasn’t laughing.

“What
proof
?” asked Dolores.

Mr. Drover leaned forward, placed his elbows on the desk, and rested his chin in his hands. “An abundance of chocolate frosting,” he said. “Footprints and cake crumbs leading from the lobby directly to Gabe’s locker.”

Glen laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How is
that
proof?”

“Let me finish, Mr. Ashe. When we opened your son’s
locker, we discovered these.” Leaning back, he slid open a drawer, removed three compact gray tubular objects, and carefully set them down on the bright green desk blotter. When Gabe realized what he was looking at, his breakfast’s orange juice burned the back of his throat. “These are dangerous explosives,” Drover said. “M-80s, I believe they’re called. Maybe you’re unaware, Mr. and Mrs. Ashe, but not only are they illegal to sell in this state, but merely bringing them onto school property is a serious offense.”

“Now, Gabriel,” Ms. Yorne went on, “are you going to tell us where you got these? Or are you going to continue playing games?”

“But those aren’t mine.” Gabe’s voice came out like a whisper.

“
Games
it is, then,” said Yorne. “The school policy for a violation of this magnitude is no less than three days’ suspension. This, however, doesn’t include the county’s plans, which may involve a fine or even incarceration at a juvenile detention—”

“Hold on here!” said Glen, trying for a moment to rise before realizing there wasn’t enough room. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Gabe was adamant last night that he had nothing to do with what happened yesterday. And, I beg your pardon, Ms. Yorne, but your
proof
is hardly irrefutable.” His voice shook, as if he were the one being accused. Hearing this only made Gabe more nervous. “Exactly how secure are these lockers? You were able to get inside easily enough. What about someone else? Someone who might have something against my son?”

“Entirely possible,” said the principal blankly, as if he’d heard it all before. “Highly unlikely.”

Dolores spoke up. “I think Gabe deserves a chance to explain himself.”

“
My point exactly
.” Ms. Yorne pulled her lips into a tight smile. “Please, Gabe, I wish you would.”

Gabe stared at the M-80s. Their potential origins raced through his mind, but one rose clearly above the others.

“Go ahead, honey,” said Dolores. “You said you don’t know where they came from.”

“But I didn’t say that,” Gabe answered. “I said they weren’t mine.” His mouth was dry, his tongue like sandpaper. “I know exactly where they came from.”