All the Little Lights

by Jamie McGuire

“My uncle John says people can only make us angry if we let them, and if we let them, we give them power.”

He picked up his camera, and I covered my face. “No!” “It looks worse when you fight it.” “I just don’t like it. Please stop.” Elliott let the camera rest against his chest, shaking his head. “That’s weird.” “Well, I guess I’m weird, then.” “No, it’s just . . . that’s like the setting sun wishing it wasn’t so beautiful.”

🥹

“I’m going to travel with my camera. Take pictures of the earth and sky and everything in-between. You could come with me.” I laughed. “And do what?” He shrugged. “Be the in-between.”

🥹 Elliott you sweetheart

I gritted my teeth, letting go of my arm to ball my hand into a fist. “I heard it’s haunted,” Tatum said, the excitement of drama sparking in her eyes. She raked her bleached tresses out of her eyes. “Yes,” I snapped back. “And we drink the blood of virgins. So you’re all safe,” I said, turning for the classroom.

Hah. You tell ‘em Cathrine.

He gazed at me for several long seconds, seeming in awe. “I fell in love with you that summer, Catherine. I’ve loved you ever since.”

🥹🫠 he’s such a marshmallow for her

all the little lights

yanked up on the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. I tried my combination again and again, feeling dozens of eyes on the back of my head. I tried once more and yanked again. Nothing. Hot tears welled in my eyes. An arm appeared over my right shoulder, turned the dial, and then yanked, hard. The latch released, and I grabbed Elliott’s arm with both hands, feeling my breath catch in my throat. He pressed his right cheek against my left, his skin feeling like sunshine on mine. He smelled like soap and serenity, his voice warming me like a soft blanket. “Are you okay?”

🦋

I turned, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. His warm lips pressed against my hair, and then he pressed his cheek against the same spot.

🦋🦋🦋

He laughed once and then squeezed me tight, burying his face in my neck. I pressed my cheek against his wet hair and kissed his forehead.

“What noises?” “Huh?” she asked, her mouth full. “You said you didn’t sleep because of noises. I didn’t hear anything.” “It was beneath,” she said.

NUH UH. IS PRESLEY IN THE BASEMENT?! OMG.

“Is that a threat?” Tatum asked, touching the tip of the sharp metal to my cheek. I closed my eyes and screamed, lashing out with my fists.

NAWWWW. I WILL DROP YOU, BEAT ER UP CAT.

“Mama?” She didn’t move. I walked around, seeing her pale face and red-rimmed eyes focused on the floor. “What are you doing?” I asked, kneeling in front of her. I combed her tangled hair from her face with my fingers, a sick feeling stirring in my stomach. She’d been that low once or twice before, but her behavior was becoming increasingly unsettling. “Everyone dies,” she whispered, her eyes glossing over.

I'm SCARED

Her skin felt cold and clammy when I pressed my lips to her cheek, but she remained still. I patted her hands, noticing dirt packed under her fingernails. “Mama, what have you been doing?”

Oh... My... Gosh... Nooooooo. Noo. SHES A MURDERER.

I bit on my bottom lip and then moved into a new position. “The new guests . . . they don’t leave. Sometimes I find their suitcases in the basement, their toiletries still in their rooms. We don’t have guests other than the regulars very often, but . . .” Elliott was quiet for a long time. “How long has this been happening?” “Not long after we opened.” “What happens to them? The new guests.” I shrugged, feeling tears sting my eyes. Elliott hugged me to his chest. He was quiet for a long time. “Has anyone come looking?” “No.” “Maybe it’s something else. Maybe the regulars are just stealing from them.” “Maybe.” “You’ve never seen anyone leave?” “Not anyone who’s come alone.”

I fear we should be a little bit more concerned about this than we are at the moment.

“We got it after . . .” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing. The memories from that night replayed in my mind so vividly that I had to shake the humiliation and fear away. I closed my eyes and nodded, trying to forget for the thousandth time. “After what?” Elliott asked. “After the Masons came home to find my mother in their house.” “What?” Elliott said. “It was after the first time I reported her to DHS, about six months after Mr. Calhoun passed,” Mrs. Mason said. “So . . . was she just walking around or what?” Elliott asked. Mrs. Mason paled. “She was hiding under our bed.”

COME AGAIN???????

The sound of a scuffle in the back of the house made Mrs. Mason jump back. She held her finger to her mouth, the light casting shadows across her face. “Whispers,” she hissed just loud enough for me to hear.

Remember when this was just a cutesy little second chance marshmallow story?? NOW IM SCARED

As my eyelids grew heavier, I heard the whispers from the backyard fill my head: familiar, close, the voices I’d sometimes hear down the hall from my bedroom in the Juniper. Conniving, strategizing, working together to implement a plan or to configure a new one. The guests were like birds, flying in the same direction, turning, landing, and spooking at the same time. They were one, working toward a common goal. Now they were outside, waiting, just like they had always done at the Juniper. I would never be free. Mama would never let me go.

GEEEEEEZZZZ

I paused for a moment, feeling something sticky under my feet,

NO

I flipped on the light. My mouth fell open, and my stomach instantly felt sick as I traced the bright red spatters and smears along the countertops, the refrigerator door, and the floor. Someone had been dragged across the kitchen, four small streaks from fingers left behind as whoever it was futilely clawed at the tile. The body was dragged through the utility room and out the garage door.

OH… MY…. GOSH????!!! WTF IS GOING ON.

My stomach sank. Blood on the floor had been marked in and then used to write scribbles on the wall. Tears fell down my cheeks.

That’s not disturbing

Thompson frowned. “Were there children in the home at any time today?” “What?” I asked. “Lauren’s kids,” Mr. Mason said. “They visit every Christmas Eve. They open presents and have dinner.” “Who’s Lauren?” Thompson asked. “Becca’s sister. Why?” “There are drawings in the garage. A child’s drawings. In the blood.” I swallowed.

Oh! 🙂 well…. 🏃🏽‍♀️‍➡️🏃🏽‍♀️‍➡️🏃🏽‍♀️‍➡️

Thompson stared at the house. “It’s lucky Elliott was with you all day. This matches Presley’s disappearance.” “What? How?” “The child’s drawings. Same thing all over Presley’s bedroom walls. We kept that quiet while we did our investigating. We told Presley’s parents to keep it confidential, too.” “In blood?” Thompson nodded. I covered my mouth and closed my eyes.

What the actual H E double hockey sticks

Duke dropped the twine, took two steps, and raised the bat with both hands. I turned and closed my eyes, waiting for the blow, but nothing happened.

Oh lawd

Mavis’s eyes softened as she looked at my fingers curled tightly around her squishy wrist. She tried to swing the bat at me, but I caught it, ripping it from her fingers. Seconds before, she had been stronger, more like my uncle John.

EXCUSE ME????? HOLD ON. HOLD ON HOLDON. WAIT WAIT WAITWAIT

“Shhh,” Catherine said. “I’ll take you to bed. It’s okay.” “Oh my God,” Mrs. Mason whispered from behind me. “How many are there?” “How many of what?” I asked, feeling more confused by the second. “Seven,” Catherine said, helping Mavis to her feet. “Mrs. Mason, this is . . . this is Poppy. She’s Duke’s daughter, and she’s five.”

I am straight up dumbfounded because I did NOT see that coming. WHAT.

Mavis dropped to the floor and crawled toward me on all fours like a dog, but her movements were rigid and unnatural. I stopped and stepped back, feeling Mrs. Mason’s nails claw into my shoulders.

AAAAAABSOLUTLEY NOT. AHHHHH

“There are no guests, are there?” I asked. Catherine looked up at me, her eyes wet. She shook her head. “That’s the secret,” I said.

😐😑😐. I have no words.

“Catherine, come with me,” Mrs. Mason said, reaching for her. She paused, reacting to the sound of sirens in the distance. Mavis lunged for Mrs. Mason’s arm, grabbing it with both hands and biting down. Mrs. Mason screamed. “Stop! Stop!” Catherine yelled. I grabbed Mavis’s jaw and squeezed. She groaned, growled, and then whimpered, releasing Mrs. Mason’s arm and crawling away. She sat and then began to laugh uncontrollably, throwing her head back.

AHHHHHHHH 🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺

“Did you take Presley?” Mavis’s expression changed. “We saw her sleeping in her room. She was so peaceful, like she hadn’t just tried to leave you stranded. So Duke wrapped his fist around all the pretty blonde hair, and we yanked her out her window. No one keeps their windows locked in this town.” “Chicago,” I said, recognizing the voice. The same one that had come to Catherine’s bedroom door and tried to come in. “That’s Willow.” “Where is she?” Catherine asked. Her body was stiff, waiting for the answer. “No one came for her.” Willow smirked. “I don’t know what happened. But I know Duke buried her in the dirt plot next door with the others.”

….. no…… that’s so sad omg.

Mrs. Mason shook her head, her brunette hair stained with blood and dirt. “Don’t let her out.” Something banged against the door. “Catherine! Let us out!” The door banged again. Catherine pressed both palms against the door to keep the wood from breaking free of the hinges, and I helped her, leaning my back against it and pushing against the opposite wall with my shoes. Mavis sounded like a man again. I pushed my feet harder against the wall. As crazy as it sounded, Mavis was stronger when she was Duke. “He killed Presley,” I said in disbelief. “The guy. Duke.” “It was all of them,” Mrs. Mason said, a single tear spilling down her cheek. “She’s dead.” She covered her mouth, trying to stifle her cries. “Presley is dead.”

I’m just… just give me a second this is a lot to process.

Her big olive-green eyes looked up at me. “Who was real?” I asked. She swallowed. “No one.” “Althea?” She shook her head. “You said seven.” “Althea. Duke. Poppy. Willow. Uncle Toad. Cousin Imogen.” “That’s six.” She hesitated. “Catherine,” I prompted. “Mama,” she blurted out. “Mama is the seventh.” She leaned against my shoulder, and I pulled her into me, holding her tight as she sobbed.

Hey! So I didn’t see any of this coming! 😗✌🏽

“Elliott,” I said quietly, “are these . . . ?” “The letters I wrote you while I was gone. Every day at first, then two or three a week until the night before I came back.”

“Promise?” He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles, and then nodded. He returned his attention to the road and, to the tune of my music box, hummed me to sleep.

Yep. That’s the happily ever after I was looking for… that’s the stuff 🥰 especially after all the TRAUMA I just endured. Jaimie McGuire you genius.