.
〰〰〰
14
Let Me In
〰〰〰
Sam was dismayed at the fact that she was a regular at the Amity Park Police Department. It was the same as last time. Same uncomfortable rows of waiting chairs, same distant sound of printers printing, same buzzing energy-efficient fluorescent lights.
She stood awkwardly in the lobby, unsure of who to talk to or where to go now that she wasn't being brought here against her will. For some reason she felt guilty just standing here.
"Can I help you?" a voice rang out.
Sam glanced up at a female officer— a stately woman in her mid thirties with brown hair pulled back in a severe bun, perfect posture, and an overly starched uniform. "Uh, I need to meet with Officer Gray," Sam said.
Maybe this was a bad idea. The skull could very well be a gorilla or a monkey or whatever else Danny said. She didn't even know if it was human. If it wasn't, she would be sending Officer Gray on a wild goose chase, right into the heart of a haunted forest... But she couldn't get it out of her thoughts. It meant something. She had a strong suspicion Danny wouldn't have shown it to her if it hadn't.
The officer tilted her head and eyed her up and down with interest. This was a tiny rural police station. It probably wasn't very often a teenage punk meandered in on their own volition. "Maybe I can help you?"
"I have a—" —What do you call it?— "a tip."
With an intrigued gleam in her eye, the woman gestured behind her towards the cubicles. "Okay… You can follow me and we can discuss—"
"I'll only talk to him."
The lady raised an eyebrow. "Okay… Take a seat and I'll go let him know. What's your name?"
"Samantha Manson." Sam kicked out her feet and gazed down at her boots, sitting in the same chair she waited for her mother in only a few weeks prior. This was the right thing to do… right? Not so sure anymore, Sam oozed a bit further down in the seat, nose stuck in her scarf.
Time stretched. Ten minutes passed. Her knee bobbed up and down impatiently. Just when she was about to change her mind, Officer Gray showed up. His mustache looked even more aggressive than she remembered and his uniform was pressed in a way that suggested he ironed it every morning. Despite the crisp uniform, he had bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't been sleeping well.
"Ms. Manson. We meet again. Follow me."
Sam got up and slung her purse over her shoulder, following Gray through the maze of cubicles.
Officer Gray yanked open a glass door that had Chief Inspector, Damon Gray etched into it. Inside was a small office with a heavy-looking walnut desk covered in unorganized papers, an older PC computer, two plastic chairs, and a black leather office chair. Light filtered through the window between cheap plastic venetian blinds with slats bent at odd angles from overuse.
Sam took a seat in one of the plastic chairs as Gray settled behind his desk. Her gaze traveled to a framed photograph. Him and his wife— Evelyn, Sam recognized— sitting on a couch. In between the two of them sat a pre-teen Valerie. They were all looking up at the camera, posed, smiling. In the background twinkled a Christmas tree. A bundle of red and white striped wrapping paper sat in Valerie's lap as she held up a professional hair straightener. Sam thought she looked like a completely different person with that big toothy grin.
Officer Gray cleared his throat and Sam looked up. "Officer Ramon said you had a tip for me?" he prompted.
"Yeah." She placed her hands in her lap. "The other night I was…" Sam struggled. She hadn't thought very far ahead about how to describe how she found the cabin without sounding like a loon. With a wince, she finished, "...taking a walk through the woods behind my house."
At mention of the mansion, Damon's face paled a notch. He fished around on his desk for a blank piece of paper. Finding none, he grabbed and flipped over a random piece of paper to write on the backside. He uncapped a pen. "Why?" he asked.
Sam thought of Danny, then of the possibility that he was a ghost, and decided to keep him out of it. "Wanted to take a walk. Get in touch with nature. Anyways, I found something that could be important. An old log cabin. No one's lived there in decades. Inside there was a lot of stuff. Old stuff. Like rifles and animal skulls. One skull looked different from the others. More human-like. It could be a monkey or something, but just in case, you know, it isn't…"
Officer Gray stiffened. The grip on his pen tightened and he stopped writing. He eyed her suspiciously. After a moment of consideration, he asked, "Where's this cabin?"
Sam tried to recall the path. She had been pretty close to Tucker's house when they walked off the side of the road. They had trudged through the forest for a while, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes? Time was funny around Danny, so she couldn't be sure. What she was sure of was there had been no path. The walk had felt like forever because she climbed over and under things, wrestling her way through thick underbrush. Although, she remembered certain landmarks. "It's directly south from my house. There's a really big clearing. The cabin is past that and to the left of a downed tree."
Gray wrote that down. "How has this cabin been sitting there and no one's discovered it?"
"It's not on any path and it's pretty deep in the woods," Sam admitted. "Besides, I'm guessing no one has really been back there in a while. The house has been vacant, ever since…" Her gaze flashed to the picture, to Evelyn's face. "Ever since your family moved out."
"Uh-huh," Gray said, disbelief sparking in his eyes. He didn't buy her story. Sam could practically hear his thoughts. As a detective, it was natural for him to be distrustful. He was probably thinking something around the lines of: On a whim, this girl decides to walk into the deepest, darkest, densest, part of the woods for a leisurely nighttime stroll? Doesn't add up. Someone must have shown her; someone who knew the woods well, who knew the cabin was there...
.
.
Sam sat in a chair, alone, in a sparsely furnished room. She recognized it as the mansion's study. Although it was darker, there were deep violet curtains draped across the windows, and the enchanting sound of Duke Ellington swirled in the air. A lime green light flashed over and over, harshly. Directly across from her was a bookshelf. Underneath her palms lay chiseled wolf heads.
"You're running out of time," said a girl in a red dress. Her long dark ponytail bounced as she crossed the room in three bounding strides before sitting atop a desk, face round and youthful, maybe thirteen.
A nagging feeling tugged incessantly in Sam's brain. This girl looked so much like someone she knew.
"He's almost here," the girl warned.
"Who?" Sam asked.
"Not that it's any of my business," the girl continued, as if she hadn't heard, teenage petulance bleeding into her tone. "It's not like he'd stay. It's too quiet where he's from. Too many fishes. Trout." Getting up from the desk, she spun across the carpet in lazy semi-graceful twirls. Her ponytail spiralled out behind her in soft ringlets; her red skirt billowed, heels digging in as she danced across the room, humming, eyes shut.
Sam watched for ages and thought she was very beautiful and that jazz music was also very beautiful.
The girl eventually danced her way back to the desk and slowed, bending over deliberately, pulling up a loose floorboard to reveal a hidden compartment containing a brass lever and— with her light blue eyes locked with Sam's— shot the other a slow one-eyed wink and pulled.
The bookshelf trembled and popped. It swung outward to reveal a dark tunnel and a set of descending stone stairs. A man without a head walked out of the opening, accompanied by a boy.
"Doesn't my cousin look just like me?" the girl asked.
Sam gazed at the boy as he crossed the room. Drawing closer, she could see the freckles on his cheeks, his dark hair and blue eyes, the gentle curving slope of his nose and had to admit that, yes, they looked identical.
"Who are you?" Sam asked, although she thought she already knew.
He bent at the waist until his face was near, lips brushing hers in a gentle kiss. Cool mint danced across her mouth. Duke Ellington erupted— a galloping, cajoling commotion of trumpets. The girl took to dancing again. The man without a head somehow watched from the opening behind the trick door.
As the fanfare sped towards it's finale, the boy tilted his head, his cheek to her cheek, and whispered a name in her ear—
—Sam jolted upright, nearly vaulting from her bed. Jazz rang distantly in her ears. Throwing back her covers, Sam scrambled for her desk and grabbed a pen. She wrote Daniel James and paused. She wrote Jazz. Again, she paused. Her dream melted away like heated wax. She blinked furiously, but couldn't remember anything except that it had been important.
.
.
On Wednesday afternoon, Sam found herself in Penelope Spectra's office, spending her hour long counselling session pondering if it was possible to cause spontaneous combustion through the heat of her gaze, if only she glared hard enough.
"So, Samantha… How have you been sleeping? Any nightmares?" Spectra stared at her through her tacky cat-eye glasses. Her tone made Sam's teeth rattle. "Do you want to talk about Mikey's death?" Spectra asked pleasantly.
No, Sam thought. She was done talking about Mikey's supposed 'suicide'. She was over sitting around lamenting his death. What Mikey needed was for someone to stop his killer— stop the ghosts— before it happened to someone else.
"I know you were friends," Spectra continued, as if Sam had answered.
We weren't friends, Sam thought. She had barely known him. She turned her head away pointedly, teeth grinding.
"Not feeling like talking today?"
This was her third session with Penelope Spectra. Sam had given up on cooperation after figuring out the more she talked, the angrier she became. Instead, Sam zeroed in on a browning cactus, sympathizing. Poor thing never had a chance. Spectra delighted in sucking all the light from this room.
"How is your relationship with your parents?" Spectra probed. "Last time I spoke with your mother she seemed very concerned about you."
Sam said nothing. Not for the first time, her thoughts wandered longingly to the other shrink— the one that had given her a business card: Doctor Matthews. Her stony expression softened as she remembered that feeling of security and warmth. Even sitting with Matthews for ten minutes… it had felt like being swaddled in a baby blanket. Maybe she should call her... That business card was still in her wallet...
"—you refuse to open up," Spectra was saying.
Sam fantasized about shoving that cactus down Spectra's throat. Maybe that'd shut her up.
"If you keep pushing away people that care about you—"
The bell rang. Thank God. Sam leapt out of the chair and slung her backpack over one shoulder, breaking for the door.
"Samantha," Spectra called.
Sam paused, hand on the door handle.
"You might not see it, but you need help."
Sam rolled her eyes, shoved the door open with her shoulder, and took off down the hallway. Slinking into the crowd, she kept her head down. "Need help, please. As if you could help. You can't even keep a cactus alive," she hissed darkly under her breath. As she turned the corner she ran straight into Tucker.
"Whoah!" He grappled for his books, catching them. "You seem... happy?" He chuckled nervously.
"Spectra," Sam muttered with a shake of her head. "Just wasted an hour of my life. I doubt that woman is even a professional therapist." If she was, she was the worst therapist Sam had encountered, and Sam had seen a lot of therapists.
Tucker grinned and leaned in. "I could run a background check. Research her credentials."
Sam didn't doubt his ability or gumption. Turned out Tucker was quite the digital anarchist. She liked that part of him. Once she got past the bright patterned sweaters and overwhelming optimism, she had to admit… he was growing on her. "Nah. Not worth it," she sighed, walking down the hallway.
Tucker fell in line as they moved towards US History. "So, what happened this weekend? I thought you were gonna go see your grandma."
The cabin had happened. And the skull. Sam pursed her lips and told him neither. "I did. She told me some pretty interesting stuff." Her lips curved into a smirk.
Tucker grabbed her arm, pulling her away from most of the students until they were huddled against a stretch of lockers. "What'd you find out?" he whispered.
Sam took off her backpack and fished around. The Horror Hunt ticket for tonight peeked out of one of the pockets. She stuffed it back in, pulling her notebook out instead. "Summer of 1962 a boy goes missing. He was never found. Then, the police found out that more kids went missing as far back as 1953. My grandmother said that everyone thought they had a serial killer in their midst."
With wide eyes, Tucker grabbed the notebook and flipped through it. He pushed his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose as he scanned her notes hungrily. "Missing kids. Creepy. So how come no one missed them for, like, ten years? Wouldn't someone have noticed they were gone?"
Sam tapped at a scribbled line in the notebook. "They were all orphans. Bastard children with no homes and no one to miss them. And all black." She winced after she said it and kicked herself for not handling that more delicately.
"Holy shit." Color drained from his face.
"No way," someone else drawled.
Whipping around, Sam found Star leaning against a locker, arms crossed, smiling vapidly at them.
Star drew her leg up and crossed it over the other, her pale thigh poking through the slit in her cheerleading uniform. Pointing between the pair of them, she tilted her head. "You two are cute. Super Nancy Drew. Tell me more. I'm dying to know all about these orphans."
Tucker snapped the notebook shut and tucked it underneath his arm, looking guilty. His shoulders pulled up, slinking backwards the way he always did when faced with the A-List.
Sam detected a hint of genuine curiosity in Star. Weird.
When it was clear neither Sam nor Tucker planned on indulging her, Star sighed. "FYI, that's my locker you two are flirting against. Don't blame me for eavesdropping when you're in my way."
Tucker reddened, sputtered, "We're not—"
"Is this pipsqueak botherin' you, Star?" Dash sidled up next to Star. He shot a glare at Tucker and cracked his knuckles.
Sam tensed. In a rush of clarity, she realized that if Dash tried anything on Tucker, she'd do something. She had grown fond of the kid and tired of the A-List.
Star looked as if she was debating whether or not to sic Dash upon them. After deliberating, she shrugged and batted her hair behind her ear. "There's no problem. I was just asking Sam if she was coming to Spirit Club again this week," Star said pleasantly.
Tucker's eyes widened in shock. He swiveled his head at Sam in disbelief.
Sam winced internally. Great. "I said I'd think about," she clipped, then walked away as quickly as possible. She unclenched her hands and tried to relax her jaw.
Tucker sped behind. "You went to a Spirit Club meeting?" he hissed, rounding on her as soon as they turned the corner. "Sam, you know that those meetings are bad news, especially with the ghosts out and about again."
"Just once. To talk to Paulina," Sam admitted. She really had been hoping to avoid this conversation.
Tucker's brows furrowed. "Why?"
Her gaze studiously avoided his. "Because Paulina was the only person I knew at the time that would tell me what happened to Valerie."
Tucker stared in confusion. Sam had never told him about Valerie's death threat. Of course he wouldn't understand. He blinked furiously as if trying to compute what she was saying. "...Why do you care?"
Her shield slammed down. Irritation raked at her. "I don't have to ask your permission to do things, Tucker." The words were out of her before she could reign them back in.
"I didn't say you had to ask. It just seems like it is something you should, you know, tell your friend."
"You'd tell me not to go! I knew we would get in a fight."
"I guess you were right!" Tucker snapped. His expression steeled. "Why did you want to know about Valerie?"
Sam's mouth clicked shut. She couldn't tell him. Valerie and him had been close, therefore he had to know about the house. If she told him that Valerie had it out for her because she lived in the mansion, he might react the same way. He might want nothing to do with her. She couldn't have that. Tucker was one of her only friends... She blinked in realization. Tucker was her friend.
Tucker's features darkened. His eyes narrowed behind his thick-rimmed glasses, arms crossing. "What else aren't you telling me, Sam?"
Mouth suddenly dry, her grip tightened around her backpack straps. The Horror Hunt ticket, her address, the cabin, the skull, Evelyn Gray, Joy Nguyen, Danny… "Everyone has secrets," she whispered hoarsely.
"Great." Tucker threw his arms up in exasperation. He shook his head, his eyes trailing up to the ceiling. Then, his gaze flicked back down and caught hers, expression hardening.
"Let me know when you wanna loop me in." He turned and walked away.
Sam felt her face crumble and the air whoosh out her lungs as she watched his retreating back. Everyone had secrets, and her own personal collection was steadfastly growing everyday. It felt heavy. As Tucker whipped out of sight, a sensation festered in her chest— a tingly achy feeling. Sam knew it well: Loss.
—Diary Entry V—
Tuesday August 14th, 1962
Still no Danny. We've searched the neighborhood and all of his usual hideouts. Nothing.
The police won't launch an official investigation until tomorrow. They keep saying that Danny probably ran away from home and that he'll come back, eventually. We have to give him time.
Danny didn't take anything with him. I checked his room. No money. No coat. No pictures.
He didn't run away. I know my brother. Sure, he can be immature, but he wouldn't run away. It just doesn't make sense.
.
Wednesday August 15th, 1962
This morning the police officially listed Danny as a missing person. They combed through his room and our entire house, interviewed our family and Danny's close friends.
This whole situation is surreal. I'm waiting for the punchline.
.
Thursday August 16th, 1962
Police found Danny's car five miles outside Amity sitting along the road. I'm relieved and terrified. Relieved that we found some evidence of where Danny went; terrified because he'd never abandon that car. Something bad happened to him.
The officers called in support from the neighboring precincts. Detective Leroy Gray is heading the investigation. He's young. Maybe late twenties. Black. He seems nervous and inexperienced. This is likely the first and only missing person case to ever happen in Amity. My parents don't trust him to handle the investigation properly.
Police won't answer our questions anymore. Mom and Dad are terrified. The way they're acting… it's like they know something we don't.
We've been driving up and down the highway where Danny's car was found. I hate how I keep looking in ditches. Everytime I see a piece of trash that looks like one of his sweaters it steals my breath.
.
Thursday August 16th, 1962
The police told us there was a napkin from the Nasty Burger wedged in the driver's seat of Danny's car. A waitress remembers him there on Sunday around 3pm. He played the jukebox. The Sensations.
The last time I was at the Nasty Burger was when we were moving to Cincinnati. Danny must have been five. They had the best strawberry milkshakes.
.
Thursday August 16th, 1962
A task force with bloodhounds is searching the woods near where Danny's car was found. The dogs took the scent of Danny's comb.
In the meantime, Vlad is letting us stay at his place in Amity. He's posted a generous reward for any information on Danny's whereabouts.
My parents can't sit still. They're out asking people if they've seen Danny. They're showing everyone that old school photo of him from 8th grade with the cowlick hair. He always hated that one.
Johnny keeps telling me that it'll be okay. I'm not sure. I can't help but think if Danny and I hadn't fought he'd still be here.
.
Thursday August 16th, 1962
It's midnight. Mom and Dad came back ten minutes ago and woke me with their yelling. I can hear them arguing right now in the living room.
Dad: This is my son. If that man knows anything, I'll make him tell us.
Mom: He's my son too, Jack. But that man has no motive to take Danny.
Dad: We don't know that. You saw how he reacted when we told him who we were. You know Danny. He could've joked about something and set that psycho off.
Mom: Everyone knows us by now. We're all over the news.
Dad: He knows something.
Mom: What are you going to do then, Jack? What? Beat the man up? Torture him? Get yourself arrested?
Dad: Of course not. I just can't just sit here and do nothing.
Mom: We told the police.
Dad: The police will need a warrant to search that place. In order to get a warrant they'll need evidence. And in order to get evidence, they need to search that place. By the time they get inside, it will be too late.
Mom: That does not give you permission to break and enter.
Dad: What if Danny's there this very second? What if that man is some kind of pervert? Why else would someone take a boy?
Mom: Jack, STOP! Don't do that, you can't— you can't think like that.
I've never heard our parents fight. This has to be some kind of nightmare. Any minute now I'll wake up. I'll race downstairs and find Danny already at the table loading an ungodly amount of pancakes on his plate— he'll have never left— and life will go back to normal. Any minute now.