I Call Upon Thee: A Novella by Ania Ahlborn

Author:Ania Ahlborn [Ahlborn, Ania]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01JGQAHQK
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2017-08-07T05:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

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DESPITE CHERYL’S INSISTENCE that she wanted to help, Maggie could tell her old friend was less than comfortable being back in Maggie’s old room. She could almost see the memories flooding Cheryl’s thoughts, her eyes darting from wall to wall, searching for signs of what had once been.

After their falling-out, it had taken a couple of weeks for Cheryl to talk to Maggie again, let alone sit with her in the cafeteria. It was there that Maggie started to share stories of the scratching in the walls, the strange sensation of being watched, and the oppressive heaviness she felt every time she opened her closet door. So, your house is haunted now? Cheryl had asked. I guess I better not go over, then. As if she had been planning on going over ever again. Maggie knew what she meant, and it hurt.

She supposed that was part of why she hadn’t told Cheryl the whole truth; why she had left out the part that, despite the knocks, Maggie had pulled the board out of its hiding place and placed it across her knees. She knew it was freaky, knew it didn’t make sense, knew that after what happened with Cheryl, she should have been terrified to ever touch that thing again. Any other kid would have stuffed it in the trash, pronto. Off to the dump, out of her life forever. And yet she found herself compelled to place it across her lap as her loneliness caught up to her. Because Cheryl had abandoned Maggie, but the board was always there.

And then there was the betrayal. Despite Maggie telling Cheryl her stories in confidence, Cher told her mom everything. Mrs. Polley was quick to blame it on the devils that must have been residing in the Olsen home. She even called Maggie’s mom to complain. You really should keep a closer eye on your kids, Stella. I’m sorry, but that older girl of yours? I’ve seen her in the cemetery. Everyone’s seen her, hanging around with that boy . . .

Their mother got angry, though it was unclear whether she was raging against Brynn or Claire Polley, who from that day forward was regarded as Pissy Mrs. Prissy. In turn, Cheryl became Little Miss Priss, and Maggie’s mom began to insist that Maggie was better off without friends like her.

And yet, despite her mother’s opinion, Maggie kept trying to win Cheryl back. But after what felt like months of failure, Maggie’s despondency began to fade. Perhaps, just as her mom kept saying, it was better that Cheryl was gone. Maybe Maggie didn’t need her. Perhaps all she needed was what she had upstairs, hiding beneath her bed. Because whenever she played alone, she felt better, as though she and that little girl from the cemetery really had become friends.

But now, years later, Maggie found herself staring at the board upon Cheryl’s lap, and a sense of unease unspooled in the pit of her stomach like a coiled snake shedding its skin.

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