knowledge: they who know the most must mourn the deepest.
Footsteps clomp up the stairs. "What are you doing all the way up here?" my dad asks as he walks in.
I sit down on the window seat next to the writing. "Just checking it out."
"Did you pick out your room? The movers are ready to bring up the beds."
"Yeah, I want this one."
He glances around with a displeased expression, his hands on his hips. "In the attic?"
"It was somebody's bedroom," I point out.
Conflicted emotions flit across his face, but he smooths it into a mask. "How are we going to get your stuff up here?"
"We'll figure it out. Just have them bring up the mattress."
He stands by the painted trees and tilts his head, tracing the branches with his fingers. "Why this moldy old room?"
I stare up at the ceiling, searching for an answer myself. "Well, I hate pink and sailboats aren't my style. And this room has history."
He turns back to the stairs, not hiding how tired he is because he thinks I'm not looking. "Everything does."
CHAPTER 2
My new school is gigantic compared to my old one, but the parking lot is just as small and crammed. The school year started a month ago, but I don't care about the social stuff. I'm a senior and I'm more than ready to graduate.
My new teachers introduce me, but otherwise I swim anonymously through my classes. In study hall, the teacher exits the room and the girl next to me whips out her phone and starts tweeting. She has curly brown hair with streaks of red through it, and a rhinestone nose stud.
"New girl, huh? Liking Fairhope?" she asks, not glancing up.
She's the first student to address me. I lift my chin off of the hand it's perched on. "Yeah, it's fine."
"That's what they all think. I'm Carla, resident bitch. Need anything, feel free to ask. I'm always looking for extra cash."
"Uh, thanks. I'm Ash. I'm from Indiana."
"Where did you move to?" Her eyes flick up to me and back down. She's not really interested, she's just fishing for enough info to drop me into a category.
"Just this old Victorian on Oak Street. It's purple. My dad thinks it's going to need a lot of work."
Suddenly every head in the seats around me pivots in my direction, phones and work forgotten. Blood boils in my cheeks and I shrink against the chair.
"You moved into the Moss house?" Carla asks, tossing her phone in her purse. Uh oh. Suddenly I'm interesting.
"I-I don't know. What's the Moss house? We moved into 225 Oak Street," I explain.
A few people gasp. Their intrigued expressions are weirding me out.
"Don't you know what happened there?" asks another girl in front of us in a gossipy tone. "I heard there's still blood stains they couldn't get out of the carpet."
Carla rolls her eyes, but she's smirking. "Lotte, don't be a fucking dolt. I'm sure they replaced the carpet. Nobody's going to buy a house with bloodstains, dumbass."
Lotte shrinks back, properly chastised. I still have no idea what's going on.
"Can somebody clue me in here?" I twist my pencil nervously through my fingers.
Carla leans forward, raising her brows over heavily made up hazel eyes. "A long time ago the dude living there, Seth Moss, murdered his family. Shot them in their sleep."
"Holy shit," I whisper.
"Yeah, holy shit. Then he just disappeared and no one ever saw him again. The police searched for him for months, but he didn't leave a trace."
"What happened to him?"
She sits back, moving her hands dramatically. "Nobody knows. Everybody assumed he just fled to Vegas or Mexico or something."
I'm completely shocked, but interested.
"It's like, the legend of our town," a guy next to us with a pink bandanna tied around bleached, spiky hair says. "They even made a TV special and a Lifetime movie."
"Of course you would know that, Paul," Carla snipes. He rolls his eyes and pushes her, then she glances back at me. "Now everybody says the house is haunted and accidents happen there. It's hard to sell and no one ever stays there for longer
Footsteps clomp up the stairs. "What are you doing all the way up here?" my dad asks as he walks in.
I sit down on the window seat next to the writing. "Just checking it out."
"Did you pick out your room? The movers are ready to bring up the beds."
"Yeah, I want this one."
He glances around with a displeased expression, his hands on his hips. "In the attic?"
"It was somebody's bedroom," I point out.
Conflicted emotions flit across his face, but he smooths it into a mask. "How are we going to get your stuff up here?"
"We'll figure it out. Just have them bring up the mattress."
He stands by the painted trees and tilts his head, tracing the branches with his fingers. "Why this moldy old room?"
I stare up at the ceiling, searching for an answer myself. "Well, I hate pink and sailboats aren't my style. And this room has history."
He turns back to the stairs, not hiding how tired he is because he thinks I'm not looking. "Everything does."
CHAPTER 2
My new school is gigantic compared to my old one, but the parking lot is just as small and crammed. The school year started a month ago, but I don't care about the social stuff. I'm a senior and I'm more than ready to graduate.
My new teachers introduce me, but otherwise I swim anonymously through my classes. In study hall, the teacher exits the room and the girl next to me whips out her phone and starts tweeting. She has curly brown hair with streaks of red through it, and a rhinestone nose stud.
"New girl, huh? Liking Fairhope?" she asks, not glancing up.
She's the first student to address me. I lift my chin off of the hand it's perched on. "Yeah, it's fine."
"That's what they all think. I'm Carla, resident bitch. Need anything, feel free to ask. I'm always looking for extra cash."
"Uh, thanks. I'm Ash. I'm from Indiana."
"Where did you move to?" Her eyes flick up to me and back down. She's not really interested, she's just fishing for enough info to drop me into a category.
"Just this old Victorian on Oak Street. It's purple. My dad thinks it's going to need a lot of work."
Suddenly every head in the seats around me pivots in my direction, phones and work forgotten. Blood boils in my cheeks and I shrink against the chair.
"You moved into the Moss house?" Carla asks, tossing her phone in her purse. Uh oh. Suddenly I'm interesting.
"I-I don't know. What's the Moss house? We moved into 225 Oak Street," I explain.
A few people gasp. Their intrigued expressions are weirding me out.
"Don't you know what happened there?" asks another girl in front of us in a gossipy tone. "I heard there's still blood stains they couldn't get out of the carpet."
Carla rolls her eyes, but she's smirking. "Lotte, don't be a fucking dolt. I'm sure they replaced the carpet. Nobody's going to buy a house with bloodstains, dumbass."
Lotte shrinks back, properly chastised. I still have no idea what's going on.
"Can somebody clue me in here?" I twist my pencil nervously through my fingers.
Carla leans forward, raising her brows over heavily made up hazel eyes. "A long time ago the dude living there, Seth Moss, murdered his family. Shot them in their sleep."
"Holy shit," I whisper.
"Yeah, holy shit. Then he just disappeared and no one ever saw him again. The police searched for him for months, but he didn't leave a trace."
"What happened to him?"
She sits back, moving her hands dramatically. "Nobody knows. Everybody assumed he just fled to Vegas or Mexico or something."
I'm completely shocked, but interested.
"It's like, the legend of our town," a guy next to us with a pink bandanna tied around bleached, spiky hair says. "They even made a TV special and a Lifetime movie."
"Of course you would know that, Paul," Carla snipes. He rolls his eyes and pushes her, then she glances back at me. "Now everybody says the house is haunted and accidents happen there. It's hard to sell and no one ever stays there for longer
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