It was long past midnight when Jonathan returned to his pitch black house. Shutting the backdoor behind him, he leaned against the wood, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart pounded furiously against his chest, and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He tore his mask off, gasping for air.
He could picture their petrified expressions as clear as day, Sherry's red lips gaped in horror as he'd jumped on the hood of the car. They were more frightened than he'd predicted. And they had no idea it was him. With that burlap mask over his head and a "gun" in his hand, aimed directly at them, he became an entity of pure terror—something inhuman that would haunt their dreams, mutating them into nightmares.
That was what he'd thought.
What he hadn't expected was for them to scatter like crows, tires squealing as Bo whipped out of the clearing. In the distance, Jonathan had sworn he'd heard a faint bang, like metal denting. He'd wanted to investigate and savor every detail of his revenge, but he knew he couldn't linger. Instead, he'd fled home, the crashing sound repeating in his head the entire journey.
A wicked smile crept up his lips, and a small laugh slipped through. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, but he knew he needed to move. With quick, quiet footsteps, he scurried upstairs, where his grandmother's snores filled the space. Relief washed over him, and he entered his bedroom, hiding the water pistol behind his wardrobe. Then, he tossed the mask onto the bed and changed out of his tattered shirt.
He pulled a T-shirt over his head before grabbing the clothing and sneaking back downstairs. The backdoor made a slight creak, but he slipped outside and dashed into the cornfield. For once, the darkness and eerie silence didn't bother him. He almost felt like he was one with it.
The mannequin of a scarecrow, which didn't look so frightening now, loomed over the stalks. Jonathan redressed it, fastening the burlap with rope. When he stepped back onto the dirt, he looked up at it with fondness. Maybe Bo was onto something when he'd given him the childish nickname.
Jonathan knew he should've returned to his room now and tried to get some sleep, but questions plagued his mind. Had the car really crashed? Had they lived?
He hoped not. It surprised him how much he didn't care if they were dead. They'd dedicated their lives to humiliating him and torturing him.
They deserved this.
***
Saturday morning, the news swept over Arlen like dark, sudden cloud, casting a shadow over the community and washing away any sense of normalcy. Ellie spent the day in bed, dismissing her mother every time she appeared at her doorway, offering a variety of snacks and drinks in an attempt to make her feel better. While she appreciated it, nothing helped.
The night came and went, and she tossed and turned on her mattress, unable to close her eyes for more than a second without imagining the accident. Even though she hadn't witnessed it, her mind seemed to think she had as it conjured each gruesome image.
Once the clock hit 5 a.m., she couldn't stand it anymore.
Throwing the covers off of her, she climbed out of bed. It was still dark outside, and through the window, she noted a dismal fog settled over the front lawn. Ellie exited her bedroom anyway and descended the stairs, making her way to the front door. As expected, she opened it to find the Sunday paper awaiting her family, wrapped up on the front porch. Dread washed over her.
Her movements were stiff as she took the newspaper inside, flicking on the kitchen light and sitting at the table. While she unrolled it, she knew exactly what would cover the front page. It was the local paper after all, and not much happened in Arlen.
She was proven correct when she read the headline: Prom Night Ends in Tragedy for Two Local High School Students.
Her stomach twisted into knots, but she couldn't stop herself from reading more.
Friday night, two high school seniors were involved in a fatal car accident after prom. Sherry Squires, 18, tragically passed away, while her boyfriend, Bo Griggs, remains in the hospital in critical condition. Local authorities and the school system have taken all appropriate measures to support those affected by this incident and are working to prevent such tragedies from happening again in the future.
Below the printed words, her eyes latched onto the picture of the car. Its front hood was dented around a large tree, its bumper crushed inwards. The windshield had shattered, forming a hole in front of the passenger's seat. She imagined Sherry's body wedged between the glass and suppressed the bile in her throat.
"Ellie?" a soft voice asked.
She looked up to see her mom standing at the bottom of the stairs in her bathrobe. She had her arms wrapped around her chest, staring at Ellie like she was a ghost.
"What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep," Ellie mumbled. Her gaze lingered on the image below her.
Her mom's slippers padded across the floor. When she came to a stop, she noticed the newspaper open. "Do you really think you should be reading that?"
Fortunately, she sounded more worried than judgmental. Ellie shrugged, and her mom took that as her cue to take the paper away. She placed it on the counter before settling into the chair beside Ellie.
"I can't imagine what you're going through—"
"I don't even know what I'm going through," Ellie said.
Her mom sighed while Ellie struggled to put her words together.
"Do I even have a right to be upset?" she continued. "I complained about her all the time, and there were months when I hated her."
"Sweetheart, of course you do. It doesn't matter how complicated things were. She was your best friend for years."
Somehow, her mother's words eased her mind. She just couldn't help but feel like a bad person for saying so many horrible things about Sherry.
"Maybe you could invite Jennifer over today?" her mom offered. "It's better to grieve with people who are going through the same feelings as you."
"Maybe."
As she answered, she knew she was telling her mom what she wanted to hear. She had no desire to speak to anyone outside of this house.
"When do you think the funeral will be?" Ellie asked.
"I don't know. That's up to Sherry's parents," her mom said. "Did the paper say anything about Bo?"
"Just that he's in the hospital."
"Well, I hope he's okay. And I'm glad you weren't in the car."
Her words sent a shiver down Ellie's spine. She hadn't even thought about that. Bo had never been the safest driver, and she'd ridden with him plenty of times. She'd thought he was far more likely to run someone else over than endanger himself, but it appeared she was wrong.
Her mom adjusted the robe around her shoulders. "Your school will probably start doing bag checks at prom from now on."
"Why?"
"I assumed Bo was drinking?"
"I don't know," Ellie said. "I didn't hang out with him much at prom."
"It's usually the case."