How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 23RD
12:06 PM
VANTERBEST HIGH CAFETERIA

At the news of the second murder, Bradford instills a curfew for everyone under the age of eighteen, meaning anymore evening bike rides like the one from Saturday would almost be against the law. After 8:30 PM, I'm supposed to be at home behind locked doors. I can't say I have any complaints about that.

Mom and Dad mentioned it for about two seconds, saying I'd better obey the law and stay safe. I can tell Mom's shaken up by all this, and I know she probably feels guilty for moving us here. But if Dad's affected by any of it, it doesn't show.

I thought Vanterbest's atmosphere was tense after the news about Greg's death, but it's about ten times that today. People are mourning even if they never talked to Greg or Pamela, and the counselor's offices have lines stretching through the halls. Even the hardier students are at least a little put off by the gruesome reminders of how short life can be. But most of all, people are scared. You can see it in the face of every teenager and teacher alike.

It's enough to totally destroy whatever appetite I'd managed to build back up, and worry me enough that even if I was hungry, I'd pass on eating at school anyways in fear of chucking it back up. Watts is already at our usual lunch table when I get there, with a stack of books that he didn't have with him in first period. I eye them as I sit down, silently asking where they came from.

It's pretty easy to tell he was hoping I would be curious—he quickly slides the top book down and sets it on the tablespace between us, a smile growing on his face. "I skipped third period and went to the library."

My brows furrow as I read the title of the book in front of me—another history book about Bradford. "I thought you said you looked through them all before."

I also thought I made it pretty clear I didn't want anything to do with this, but I figure I'll let it slide. I guess I can handle listening to Watts' theories, as long as he doesn't expect me to participate in all his Mystery Inc. craziness.

"I skimmed through them, just to see if I could find anything about that murder," he explains, adjusting his glasses. "But then I started thinking, you know, if all this is rooted in Bradford's history, then I need to look at all of it, so I don't miss anything."

"And I take it you found something?"

He nods eagerly, the giddy expression on his face clashing with his morbid words. "You remember how Joan Esther Belvight—the cult leader—was burned to death in front of the old courthouse?"

"Yeah." Unfortunately. Someone burning alive isn't something I'd like to spend too much time thinking about. My marred arm itches just from hearing the words.

"Well guess where that courthouse was?"

"I don't know, Watts," I sigh, knowing he's trying to be dramatic, but wishing he'd just get to the point. "Where?"

"Here." He jabs his pointer finger into the table. "Right here. They tore it down and rebuilt it in the town square in the eighteen hundreds. Then Vanterbest was built on the old lot a century later."

"So..." I shrug, shaking my head. Whatever connection he's trying to make, I'm not getting it. "What's so important about that?"

He blinks, and his smile falls. "Well... it's... I mean, it has to mean something, right? Joan murdered that kid, was killed right on the land underneath Vanterbest, and now kids from Vanterbest are showing up murdered in the same way. It's like... like it's all connected somehow. Like how if you build a house on top of a burial ground, you'll have ghosts."