Page 117 of Middle of the Night

“No!” Ashley yells as she scrambles toward them. I spin around and grip her shoulders, forcing her to look away from the sight of Henry dangling helplessly in Andy’s arms.

His glasses slip from his nose and vanish into the darkness below.

“Mom!” he screams. “Help me!”

I take two more steps toward Andy, pleading, “Let him go.Please.If you want me to confess, I will.”

“It was me!” Ashley shouts, the words reverberating through the pitch-black woods.

Andy freezes.

Henry does, too.

Only I move, turning slowly to face her. “Ashley, no. You don’t need to lie to get Henry back.”

“It’s not a lie, Ethan.” Ashley looks into my eyes, her face splintering into a thousand warring emotions. “It’s all true. It was me. I killed Billy.”

Saturday, July 16, 1994

12:48 a.m.

It took all the strength Billy possessed not to cry himself to sleep. Even though he managed it, he wept on the inside. A waterfall of tears pouring from his broken heart and trickling down his ribs.

All because of what Ethan had said.

It didn’t matter that his best friend had apologized immediately. Or that Billy accepted it with a casual “Hakuna matata, dude.” They both knew a horrible thing had been uttered in the tent that night, and that no amount of apologies could reverse it. It didn’t mean that he and Ethan weren’t still best friends. But something had irrevocably changed, a fact that made Billy feel as sad and lonely as he’s ever felt in his life.

Still, he slept. For a little bit at least. During the night, he’d wake every so often and look across the tent to Ethan’s sleeping form, consumed by a desperate urge to shake him awake and make him again swear that he hadn’t meant the things he’d said. Just like the tears, Billy fought the urge and went back to sleep, only to wake again a few minutes later, burning with the same pleading desire.

The last time he woke, his eyes remained closed. In the sleeping bagnext to him, Ethan stirred, making Billy think he was also awake. He considered saying his name, the two syllables forming on his lips, on the verge of being made real.

Then he heard something.

A rustling in the grass right outside the tent.

It was followed by a sound Billy didn’t recognize. Something so strange that it kept him frozen in terror, his eyes clenched tight.

Scriiiiiiiitch.

Beside him, Ethan stirred again. Had he heard it, too? Billy wanted to check to see if Ethan was awake, but he remained too scared to open his eyes.

Minutes later, they’re still closed, even though Billy now feels air on his face. A sliver of freshness cutting through the stuffiness of the tent. The sensation overrides his fear, making him curious enough to finally open his eyes.

That’s when he sees it: a long gash in the side of the tent.

Billy stares at it, feeling astounded and confused and about a thousand other emotions. The one that stands out the most, though, is awe.

In his mind, only one thing could have caused it.

A ghost.

One previously unknown to him. One not mentioned in his giant book. It’s no surprise to Billy that a mysterious and rare spirit is roaming these woods. Of course there would be. He remembers what Mr. Hawthorne told him.

There are ghosts everywhere, if you just know where to look.

Billy knows. They’re right here.

As he peers through the slash in the tent, searching for signs of the spirit that created it, it dawns on him that he’s not afraid. Nor should he be. If the ghost—whatever it is—intended to hurt him, surely it would have done so by now. Instead, Billy suspects there’s another purpose to the visit, and it makes him curious to learn more.

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