Hilltop House

Cora, Twelve

"I know you say my mother cares about me, but if she cares, why would she talk about moving us again? I don't want to leave. I'm tired of moving. And I like this house, as weird as it is; I feel like I belong here. I wish you could just call mom and tell her that everything is fine and she needs to do what's best for me for once in her life. If I didn't have you to talk to, I'd go crazy, Grandma. I've tried to tell her we need to come visit you, but she always says it's not a good time. Pretty sure there's never going to be a good time. And I've been sick for weeks, now--the doctor can't quite figure out what it is, but they're looking into autoimmune stuff. At least they've let me stay home from school because I can't get rid of my fever--it just comes and goes; I'm doing all my work online, now, and I just get to stay home all day in my room. I feel really safe in this house. If mom tries to move me again, I swear to God I'll chain myself to one of those concrete beams in the basement. I'm not going anywhere.

"You asked about our neighbors. We've had some weird things going on with them lately. The old man down the street just died, literally in my backyard. Mom found his body! They say it was natural causes, just a heart attack or something, but who knows why it had to be in our backyard. And then the woman next door (everyone calls her Dottie, but I think that's a nickname) is in some sort of rehab, I think mom said for a month or so. She had a fall, and it was just her and her cats for, like, three days! Thank God they didn't start eating her. One of the other neighbors was supposed to seal her window so that the cats couldn't leave, but no one wanted to go in there and feed them, so I think he left it open on purpose. Those gross animals have been roaming the neighborhood, probably going feral.

"Anyway, I just hope I can see you again, soon. I miss you. Write back when you can.

Love, Cora bean"

Cora sat back against her pillows and pressed the send button. She hated lying to Grandma Luce, but she didn't want to worry the old woman. Besides, most of what she'd written had been true; the only lie was about feeling safe in the house. Whatever she felt, it wasn't exactly . . . safe. But she knew, too, that safe or not, she couldn't leave. She did belong there, and she didn't want to leave.

After what'd happened with the phone--well, Cora had needed a little time to process. She knew at that point that the house was somehow alive in a sense she couldn't exactly comprehend. It communicated with her. She'd known that for a while, with the night music and the way it adjusted itself for her, to keep her warm and comfortable. She'd known about its other quirks, like the cracking glass and the flickering lights when it grew particularly--what, angry? Did it have those kinds of emotions? Could it feel the things humans felt? That, she didn't know. But she'd nevertheless sensed its (if not anger) discontent with her, when she'd brought Ben into the house and when she'd returned after going out with Brian. The more she thought of it, the more it seemed as if the house was, in some enigmatic way, jealous--or at the very least, protective.

Cora had yet to understand what had happened to Ben. His car was still there, though Brian had said he'd driven away. Cora had considered that Brian could've lied to her, and yet, why would he? She was mad at him at present and was trying to find things to think less of him for, but Brian hadn't given her any reason to believe he'd lie about something important. When she'd last seen Ben, he'd been crazy, adamant about getting what he'd wanted, and she couldn't say she missed him, but she did wonder what had happened to him. As much as he'd upset her, she didn't wish him ill; she didn't want him to get hurt. In fact, once she'd given him a few days to cool off, she'd tried to contact him, but he hadn't answered messages or calls. So when he'd called her, and when his phone had been ringing within her own house, in her basement, and she couldn't find the source . . . it'd been too confusing, too frightening. It hadn't made sense. And in the days that'd followed, when she'd gotten up her courage, she'd tried calling again and heard nothing. It was back to before--no answer, and no ring.