Hannah-Beast (Dark Corners Collection, #1)

by Jennifer McMahon

Erin’s face was painted blue with thick greasepaint. There was a black plastic eye mask held in place by elastic. A pink feather boa. A silver cape. Topping it all off was a rainbow clown wig. Jesus, how many rainbow clown wigs did the drugstore in town sell each Halloween? The costume was spot-on; a near-exact replica with the exception of the face paint—it was the wrong shade of blue and too thick. The real Hannah-beast had worn makeup that was thin, patchy, a dull pale blue that had made her look cyanotic.

Pick your battles, Amanda told herself. And besides, didn’t letting the swearing slide make her the cool mom as opposed to the uptight dad? The dad who had walked out on them four months ago, claiming Amanda was too distant, too walled off, and he couldn’t live his life with a woman he didn’t know how to reach.

“It’s my last year of trick-or-treating,” Erin whined. Next year she’d be a freshman in high school. “Why do you have to ruin it?” Her voice broke a little bit, and Amanda thought Erin might start crying.

Erin stared at her through her mask, her eyes angry and a little desperate. They could have been the real Hannah-beast’s eyes. Manda, the eyes pleaded. Manda Panda, please. Don’t let them do this to me.

Erin sighed dramatically. “Can you just explain why? Can you be that fair?” Every year since she was in third grade, Erin had asked to go as Hannah-beast. She’d seen the older kids doing it, a handful each year, and she’d heard the stories. How the real Hannah-beast came back each year at Halloween, came back with a box of matches in her pocket, so you better look out, better be careful, better hope you didn’t run into her. She was a crazy ghost girl, Hannah-beast was. She’d killed in life and she’d kill again in death, given half a chance. But the stories were just that: stories. Myths with pieces of truth hidden inside.

“But Hannah-beast was a real girl, right?” Erin would ask. “Yes,” Amanda would tell her. “A girl who died a long time ago.” “Yes.” “And she set a fire?” Amanda would nod, always having to look away. “Yes,” she’d say, the same reply she’d given hundreds of times, beginning back when she was Erin’s age and the police first questioned her about it. “And people died?” “Yes.” “Did you know her, Mom?” Erin would ask, eyes wide and hopeful. “Did you know the real Hannah-beast?” “No,” Amanda would say, the lie so practiced it rolled off her tongue in a loose and natural way. “I didn’t know her at all.”

But the stories were just that: stories. Myths with pieces of truth hidden inside.

Erin walked out and slammed the door behind her, but not quickly enough to drown out the first words she spoke: “I fucking hate my mother.”

They knew better than to come to the front door, deal with Daddy and his fire-breathing bourbon breath telling them they weren’t good girls, they were trash, little dipshit whores. Girls like that, they’re going straight to hell. That’s what Daddy said. You stay away from them unless you want to get burned.

“Please say you’ll be our friend and come with us,” they begged. Hannah shook her head. “I’m not supposed to.” It was more than the fact that her daddy would skin her alive if he caught her going out with these girls. It was that she didn’t trust them. Not one bit. They’d given her dog biscuits, telling her they were oatmeal cookies, then barked out their own laughs, saying, “Hannah’s a dog! Bowwow, Dog-face! Bow-fucking-wow!”

“Oh, Hannah,” they all said, putting their hands on her, patting her back, stroking her hair like she was something truly great, like their own pet unicorn. “We’re going to have so much fun. It’ll be a night you won’t ever forget.”

Not one but two Hannah-beasts greeted her, blue faces leering, smiling, rainbow wigs glowing. “Trick or treat,” they said. Amanda took a step back. There was a third girl, wearing a white lab coat and big black-framed eyeglasses, just behind them. She said, “Dumbasses, you’re supposed to say boo! That’s what the real Hannah-beast said.” Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Say boo. Say boo, Hannah.

“And what are you supposed to be?” “She’s a Hannah-beast!” Mel crowed. “Say boo, Hannah. Say boo and show the man how scary you can be.” “Boo,” Hannah said quietly. The man shook his head, laughed. The girls laughed too. Hannah stood up taller, rocked back on her heels, and lunged forward like a snake about to strike. “BOO!” she screamed. The old man jumped, startled. Then he frowned, muttered, “Crazy kid,” and closed the door in their faces. The girls squealed, squealed with joy, patted her on the back. “Nice job, Hannah-beast.” “Holy shit, did you see his face?” “Hannah-beast is scary!” “Hannah-beast is crazy!” “Hannah-beast is spectacular!”

They knocked too loud on the door, sang out, “Trick or treat, trick or treat!” and a woman answered, held out a bowl of candy, said, “Happy Halloween!” A poodle danced around the lady’s feet, barking in that little yappy-dog kind of way, a pink collar with fake diamonds glittering around its neck. And the girls didn’t have to tell Hannah this time; she did it without being asked. She pressed forward, stood on her tiptoes to make herself taller. She held up her arms, cape flapping behind her, got right in this lady’s face, and screamed, “BOO!” which made the poor lady recoil and scream a little, and once she caught her breath, she asked, “What is wrong with you?”

“She’s Hannah-beast,” Mel said, giggling. “That’s what’s wrong.” “She can’t help it,” Katie said. “She’s crazy. I’d bring your puppy inside if I was you. She might just eat it up!” And Hannah bared her teeth and growled. The lady pulled her dog inside, slammed the door in their faces. The girls all laughed loud and shrieking laughs. “You’re the real thing, Hannah-beast,” Katie said, twirling around her like Hannah was the sun and she was just a little planet trying to get warm. “I am spectacular!” Hannah crowed to the night as she flew down the steps, the others following her now, chasing her, calling after her: come back, slow down, don’t leave us, we love you, Hannah-beast.

“I think it’s totally brilliant, but are you sure it’ll work?” Katie asked. “Of course I’m sure. She’ll come with us. She’ll do what we say.” “But don’t you think it’s kind of . . .” Amanda hesitated.

Did Amanda have something to do with Hannah’s death?

Hannah-beast’s a real monster, that’s for sure! Be careful, or she’ll eat you up! She’s got a dead poodle inside her bag. She’s gonna snack on it later. Yum, yum, yum. You’re doing so good, Hannah. We love you, Hannah. You’re scaring the shit out of the whole town, Hannah. This is your night. The night of Hannah-beast. Say boo. Boo! Boo! Boo!

“We’ve got one more special surprise, Hannah,” Mel said. “What’s that?” “It’s a scavenger hunt,” Katie explained. “Do you know what that is?” Manda asked. “Sure, I guess,” said Hannah, thinking it sounded like a thing from birthday parties, even though she hadn’t been invited to a birthday party since second grade. “It’s where you follow clues, gather objects, and find a prize.” “Like a treasure hunt?” she asked. “Yeah, like a treasure hunt,” Katie said, smiling, bobbing her head. “Well, what’s the prize?” Mel laughed. “Think about the word prize, Hannah. It’s short for surprise, right? And it wouldn’t be a surprise if we told you.”

“Are you ready?” Mel asked. “Ready for the first clue?” “I don’t know,” Hannah said. “It’s late, and my dad—” “If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to,” Manda said. “Of course she wants to do it,” Mel said, giving Manda a disgusted look. “Yeah,” Katie said. “You want the surprise, don’t you, Hannah?” Hannah hefted her sack, heavy with candy over shoulder. “BOO!” she howled at the top of her lungs, and the girls all laughed and patted her on the back, and she was the star of the show. It was the night of Hannah-beast. Hannah-beast unleashed, that’s what Mel said.