Chapter 5: Old Grudges, New Fears

Grandpa forced a laugh. "Susan, you’re still young. You and Doug oughta work hard and save up. Maybe your daughter’s illness can be fixed."

He tried to sound hopeful, offering the kind of advice small-town folks always gave—work hard, save, trust in miracles. But even he didn’t sound convinced.

The woman gave a bitter laugh. "No, we went to the best hospital around. All the doctors said it can’t be fixed. Uncle, I want to give Lily up for adoption. Do you know anyone in town who’d take her?"

Her words hit like a slap. The room went dead quiet, only the rain hammering above. Grandma’s hands flew to her mouth, stricken.

As soon as she finished, a thunderclap shook the house.

The lights flickered, the windows rattling. I jumped, nearly spilling my cocoa. For a second, I thought the storm would tear the roof clean off.

After the thunder, Grandma grew anxious. She pointed at the clock. "Ed, it’s 11:30. We have to close up."

Her voice was high and shaky, barely more than a whisper. The ticking clock sounded like a countdown, each second louder than the last. The storm outside sounded endless.

Grandpa finally snapped to attention. "How’d it get so late? Wasn’t even eleven just now."

He stared at the clock, rubbing his temples. Time felt like it was slipping away, the night blurring.

Susan smiled. "Uncle, Aunt, why do you keep staring at the time?"

Her voice was light, almost mocking. She stretched, as if the weight of the room meant nothing. Her smile looked painted on, brittle.

Grandpa replied nervously, "An old homeless man came this morning and said at midnight a vengeful spirit would come for someone. Told us to close up early. Susan, we have to close up, can’t keep you here."

He wrung his hands, words tumbling out. He couldn’t meet her eyes. The room felt smaller, the air heavier.

Susan stared at Grandpa and said flatly, "If your conscience is clear, you got nothing to fear from the dead."

Her words sliced through the air, cold as ice. She didn’t blink, just stared him down. My stomach dropped out.

As soon as she finished, thunder boomed, rattling the windows.

The shelves shook, jars clinking. The fluorescent lights buzzed, shadows jumping like startled cats across the walls. I huddled closer to Grandma, hoping the storm would drown out my fear.

Grandma grew upset. "Susan, what do you mean by that? Ed and I have never done anything wrong."

Her voice cracked, and she looked desperately to Grandpa for support. She stood tall, putting herself between Susan and the rest of us. I’d never seen her look so scared and so determined.

Susan forced a laugh. "Aunt Carol, you’re overthinking."

She waved her hand, brushing off the question. Her laugh was hollow, echoing strangely in the room.

Grandma said nothing more and brought out an umbrella and two clean sets of clothes.

She moved briskly, trying to act like everything was normal. The clothes were soft sweatpants and an old Maple Heights High T-shirt, the kind she kept for guests. The umbrella was big and sturdy, the kind that could stand up to a tornado.

She said, "Susan, take the umbrella and head back. These clothes are for you—change on the way."

She held them out, her hand shaking just a little. The rain sounded even louder now, drumming on the metal roof.

Susan glanced at the clock and pleaded, "Aunt Carol, it’s pouring out there. Could you let us stay just one night?"

Her voice was small and desperate, the bravado gone. She wrapped her arms around Lily, shielding her from the storm.

Doug chimed in, "Please, Aunt Carol, the road’s dangerous in this rain. There aren’t any other houses nearby. Let us stay for the night."

He looked at Grandpa, eyes wide and pleading. His bravado was gone, replaced by real fear. His shoulders sagged under the weight of it all.

Grandma’s lips parted, but no words came. She pressed a trembling hand to her heart, as if trying to steady it. "Susan, it’s not that we don’t want to take you in, but what the old man said really spooked us. We’re afraid something might happen."

Susan suddenly dropped to her knees, crying, "Aunt Carol, it’s pouring and the road’s a mess. For my dad’s sake, please let us stay just one night. If a vengeful spirit really comes, Doug and I can help. The more, the safer."

Her cries filled the room, raw and heart-wrenching. Lily clung to her, silent tears on her cheeks. Doug put his arm around both, his own eyes shining.

Grandma said anxiously, "Susan, get up. Don’t do that."

She hurried over, helping Susan to her feet. Her hands shook as she brushed mud from Susan’s knees. I’d never seen Grandma so lost for words, torn between fear and compassion.

Susan sobbed, "Aunt Carol, please let us stay just one night. We really have nowhere else to go."

Her voice was hoarse, pleading. The rain sounded like the world was ending. I wanted nothing more than to let them stay, rules or not.

Ever since Old Tom died, all his land had been split among the townsfolk. Our store stood on what used to be his property. I remembered hearing the grownups talk about it after church—Tom’s house bulldozed, the land divided, our store rising where his living room once was. Sometimes I’d find old coins or pottery behind the building and wonder what else was buried there.

Grandpa whispered, "Carol, why not let them stay? We’re old. If a vengeful spirit comes, they can help."

His voice was soft, resigned. He always believed in facing trouble together.

Grandma hesitated, then finally agreed. "Alright."

She let out a long sigh, fear etched deep in her eyes. She wiped her face and squeezed Grandpa’s hand, hoping his strength would make things alright.

Grandpa forced a smile. "You can stay tonight."

He tried to sound brave, but his voice was thin. He reached for the keys, locking the door with a shaky hand. The storm seemed to roar louder.

He locked up and said, "You can sleep upstairs tonight."

He pointed to the old staircase, steps creaking with age. I remembered sleeping up there during tornado warnings, the smell of cedar and mothballs thick in the air.