Hilltop House

Maeve, Sixteen

A weird fog had fallen by the time Maeve pulled up onto her street. It was late, but not too late--slightly after midnight. She'd left the convenience store a bit early, gone next door and picked up the gun John had obtained for her. He'd tried to talk to her about safety and how to shoot it and she'd listened with a quarter of the attention she should have, but her mind was elsewhere. She'd gotten a call from Alan that he and Brian had been trying to get ahold of Cora and been unable to. The girl wasn't answering the door or her phone, and even though she'd sent her mother a laconic text confirming she was alive and well, Maeve was ill at ease and just wanted to get home.

Even as cold as the weather was, some dampness had descended, causing low clouds to roll in from somewhere. Maeve knew they lived relatively close to the ocean and figured that propinquity led to unexpected weather. But the reality was that the fog was kind of freaky and only added to the woman's apprehension.

Getting out of her car, she was instantly accosted by Brian, who scared her half to death. He immediately apologized, saying something about Cora promising to come over and not following through and that he was worried about her—and Maeve had the hardest time getting him to leave. In fact, only when she entered the house, knocked on her daughter's bedroom door, and received a brief response about being "fine" (which she'd then relayed to Brian) was the boy persuaded to let it go. Maeve sighed inwardly as she watched him walk discontentedly down the street, knowing he had something going on with her daughter and just hoping neither of them was going to get hurt or do anything stupid. Then, feeling a little too like her mother, she headed in.

The gun in her purse made her anxious. Maeve had wanted it, but the truth was, she had no real idea what to do with it. Probably, she should've gotten one a long time ago and actually learned how to use it, but it wouldn't have kept Paul away from her, anyway; she didn't want it for that purpose--she wanted it to keep Paul away from their daughter.

She put her bag on the kitchen counter, turned on a light, as Cora had left none on except one in her bedroom, and then she stood still, took in a deep breath, and just tried to gather her thoughts. She rubbed her hands up over her chin and face, crossed her arms. Everything was so off. She knew it was all going somewhere, would soon get wherever it was going, but what exactly was about to happen was difficult to guess. The signs were everywhere. And her conversation with Niecey not long ago had unsettled her already disturbed brain. The thing about a baby--hadn't she been hearing it crying at night, in her sleep? Seen it in her nightmares? And she'd thought it was the phantom of her own memories . . . but what if it wasn't? What if it was due to that long-ago resident's missing baby? That is, if what Niecey said was true. Maeve couldn't put much faith in the old woman, as eccentric as she was. But if there was somehow a baby related to the house, it would both relieve and terrify Maeve. She'd no longer be as fearful of her past preying on her mind, but it would also mean her house was haunted, and she wasn't sure she believed in ghosts. And yet, ghosts or not, the house was undeniably weird, and as much as Maeve wanted to wait things out, she'd begun looking online at new properties in nearby cities and even not-nearby cities. She had no idea how she'd sell the house she'd just bought, though. She had a feeling it wouldn't want to let Cora go, and that thought in and of itself was simultaneously absurd and terrifying.

She needed to check on her daughter. Brian's overreaction had only added to her own unease, even though she was sure everything was fine.

Leaving the kitchen, Maeve went to the end of the hall and glanced at the door to her own bedroom (which she kept closed unless in need of clothing) before turning to her daughter's and knocking softly.

"Cora? You awake?" It was late, but the girl's light was on. And Maeve had been in there plenty of times after coming home from work, regardless of the hour. She checked on her daughter ad nauseum.