Hilltop House

Cora, Eight

Why had she felt sick for two weeks, now? Her mother had taken her to the doctor, and she'd been put on antibiotics under the assumption that it'd been some sort of infection, but there hadn't been a definitive answer. It was all very frustrating because it was one of those illnesses that didn't make Cora feel all too terrible but that kept her out of school with an on-again-off-again low fever. The girl would've actually liked to go to school. Working from home, being alone all day every day, was boring, and it led her to do stupid things.

Like message Ben.

She knew she shouldn't have done it. Cora had cut him off after he'd gotten pushy, and she hadn't responded to the messages he'd sent her. They'd stopped altogether over three weeks ago, but something got to her in all the crushing boredom of being stuck at home, and she'd stupidly rekindled their messaging by saying out of the blue, "What's up? I miss you."

She'd been immediately furious with herself--first, for sending the message at all and second, for telling him she missed him. Because she didn't. Well, she did a little. Actually, it was more the attention that she missed. Brian was a good friend, but he worked all day. And Brian didn't say flattering things to her, get flirty with her. Cora selfishly missed Ben's compliments and demands, even if they'd simultaneously scandalized her. There was a safety in speaking with Ben, too: Cora knew she'd never see him again, so she could pretend she'd offer something with minimal fear of ever having to follow through. Maybe that was called teasing . . . and maybe it wasn't very nice (or very smart, for that matter). But who cared? It wasn't as if they'd see each other again. Besides, she'd figured he'd probably moved on from her, anyway.

If he had, though, his quick response hadn't indicated that. In fact, he'd apologized to her for his pushiness and subsequent anger. Cora had been shocked, pleasantly shocked. So they'd gone back and forth afterward, catching up, he keeping things calm and unprovocative, and she beginning to remember why she'd liked him in the first place. A few pictures from him--of himself looking amazing, of course--didn't hurt, either.

Cora had told him about her weird house. She hadn't told him everything, just flippantly sort of threw in that it was probably haunted, that someone had committed suicide in it, that neighbors thought it was creepy . . . that kind of stuff. He'd eaten it up, as she'd known he would, asking for the address so he could dig into and research its history for her. And part of Cora had felt a little guilty, sharing information with him, though she still wasn't sure why. It was almost as if she'd divulged secrets, as if someone would be disappointed in her to know she'd been blabbing on about the house. But who? Brian wouldn't have cared. Neither would her mother. So who? Who would've cared if she'd spoken irreverently about this weird little house that seemed a bit too eager to show its weirdness to her? Maybe there was a ghost after all; maybe the ghost would've been annoyed.

But she didn't believe in ghosts, she kept telling herself. And yet, that woman in the photograph . . . there'd been something about her. Had she lived here, a long time ago? Had she been the one to kill herself (if there was any truth to that rumor, anyway)? Cora had felt compelled to keep the picture, unsure exactly why but sensing it was of some importance. She'd wanted to go next door and ask Niecey about it, and she would, at some point, but lately, it'd been too cold outside, and Cora hadn't felt well enough to risk getting an old woman sick.

Brian was a different matter. He didn't care about being sick, in fact said only half-jokingly it'd be nice if he could take some time off due to illness. So on a Sunday he drove up the street in his white pick-up, had Cora get in, and then drove her back to his house, all because he refused to go into hers and didn't want her to have to walk to his. She was fine with that. It got her out of her bedroom, anyway.

They went into his house, the backyard being too cold. It was mid-November, now, and everything had snapped into winter right about after Halloween. The leaves had hardly had time to turn before frost settled in. At least there hadn't been any snow.