Towering

whipped through the trees. The night was moonless, black. Finally, he said, “Dunno. It happened a while ago. My dad says he doesn’t remember much, except he said the police didn’t look very hard when she disappeared. He figures the girl ran away. Lots of people do.”
    “That’s understandable.”
    “How so?”
    Awkward. “Well, I mean, it doesn’t seem real exciting here. Maybe she wanted to go to the city or something.”
    “So you think all we do around here is hang out at Stewart’s all weekend?”
    I knew Stewart’s was like a 7-Eleven, and if I’d thought about it, that would have been what I’d thought. But I said, “No, of course not.”
    He grinned. Now that it was warm, I could see his face, a sort of goofy face that suited the jock he obviously was. He looked like the type of guy I’d have hung with at home.
    Home .
    “Actually, that sort of is what we do on weekends. I was just messing with you.”
    I laughed. Nervously. “Oh, okay.”
    “You should come sometime. It might not be much, but it’s all we’ve got.”
    I nodded. “Maybe so.” I thought about what he’d said, Lots of people do . Do what? Run away? Or disappear? How many people was lots ?
    “Are you starting school here after vacation?” Josh asked.
    “No. I’m taking these online classes, so I guess she’ll have to get internet.”
    The questions hung between us. Why had I moved? Why here? Why wasn’t I going to school? I huddled in my coat, willing my teeth to chatter, letting the cold serve as an excuse for why I wasn’t volunteering the information. But Josh wasn’t asking, and for that, I was glad. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to get involved with people here. New people I’d only disappoint. The creepy old lady and her missing daughter, who my mom said had probably ended up in a ditch—they sounded more my speed.
    We drove in silence another mile or so. At one point, I checked Josh’s speedometer. He was going ninety. No one noticed or cared. That seemed to describe a lot of things around here. Finally, he slowed at a mailbox with no name on it, just the number 18. He turned and drove down a private drive that was maybe another quarter mile long. At the end of it was a house, two stories high with dark windows. Even with just the porch light, I could see it was in disrepair, a shade of gray that was more neglect than paint. Josh took a key from the cup holder. “She said let yourself in.”
    I stumbled from the car. The frigid wind hit me worse than before, and inside my gloves, my fingers felt like stiff wires, making it almost impossible to pull my bag from the bed of Josh’s pickup. Finally, I wrested it out. I started to wave good-bye to Josh.
    He rolled down the window. “Wyatt?”
    “Yeah?” I stopped. The wind rolled under my hat and through my ears. I could only see his outline in the shadowy truck.
    “Good luck, man.”

Wyatt
    I heard the roar of Josh’s motor long after it would have disappeared at home. Then, nothing. I dragged the duffel bag up the path. Snow soaked through the tops of my sneakers. Above my head, something—a bird of prey or maybe a bat—shrieked. I looked for it but saw nothing. The trees did a skeleton dance in the December wind. I stumbled forward. The key, forgotten in my haste to climb the slippery path, slid from my frozen fingers, falling soundlessly into the snow. I knelt to fumble for it and felt the distinct sensation of being watched. I glanced up and saw a small, dark movement in the upstairs window. My imagination. I heard a rustling in the trees. Just squirrels. I returned to my fumbling and finally found the key, which had nearly turned to ice.
    I rose and climbed the steps to the door. The key fought against the lock, as if it was not much used to working. Finally, it turned. I tugged the door open.
    A scent met my nose, not one I associated with the elderly. I had expected mothballs or powdery perfume, but this was something different, some rare spice. The room was pitch black. I felt for the light switch, but when I flipped it, the bulb flashed bright then died instantly. In the moment it was on, I saw the staircase ahead of me. With still-frozen hands, I pulled my bag up and climbed the stairs, feeling along the wall as I walked, looking for another light. Finally, I found one as I reached the upstairs landing.
    The hallway before me looked from another time. Old photos of long-dead people lined the walls of the staircase. A couple posed