The antiseptic cream cooled the raw blistering flesh on Jessa’s upper arm. She wondered if it did indeed hurt a little less or if it was just her wishful thinking. It certainly didn’t look much better. Jessa silently cursed Suzanne Daniels for a terrible pass in basketball the other day. Stupid Suzanne Daniels basically threw the ball directly at Jessa’s arm. Stupid Suzanne Daniels should have known Jessa would not have caught the ball. Jessa never caught the ball. When the ball gets thrown at Jessa Baxter, Jessa Baxter turns away and the ball just bounces off her. Everyone should know that.

Bloody Suzanne Daniels. Bloody basketball.

The chemical scented cream slid under Jessa’s fingertips in lazy circles. She hadn’t shown the cigarette burn to anyone. A momentary pang of guilt flashed through her for not sharing it with Flynn or Maggie.

They’d only make a big deal out of it.

But it is a big deal, isn’t it?

No, this is between me and Cecily.

Cecily. Jessa cast her mind back to the Parapsych Skills class earlier. Had she imagined the strange heat in her hands? She had been looking directly at Cecily when it happened. And Cecily had that… look. Maybe Jessa had simply been feeling the warmth from the candle. Yes, that must be it. That’s the logical explanation. But it had felt so present and so strong. And, wait—had Jessa actually blown out her candle by then? She couldn’t remember.

Could it really have been Cecily?

How?

Jessa sat on her bed for a moment and considered climbing under the covers. But she had more pressing matters, and pulled out her first-year Parapsych Skills textbook, laying it open to the back page and set one of her candles in the circle. It wasn’t fresh and new and white like the one Ms Alzamora gave her, but it would do.

Relax.

Breathe.

Concentrate.

She worked, step by step, through her usual open-mind practice, then did her best to recall the teacher’s instructions from the lesson in pyrokinesis.

To Jessa’s frustration, she couldn’t get the flame to lean even a little bit. She sat back in her chair and wondered what she was doing wrong. Thoughts began to climb into her brain. Thoughts of Cecily Graves, the candle, the museum, Silas Lynch, Hugo Fletcher, and the deep down something that was starting to give her the feeling that all these things were somehow connected.

Her eyes were sore with sleeplessness, but she felt so awake.

More thoughts, this time of Maggie, Flynn, Tonia and Annora. She wondered what Audrey was doing. Sleeping, probably. Audrey was so sensible; she’d probably be in bed, even though it was only—12:30 am?! How did it get so late?

Jessa lay down on her side. Her hair smelled bad.

Maybe I should go and shower.

No, her parents would definitely hear that, and then there would be too many follow-up questions. Jessa clicked on the television and muted it, then stared at the late night nonsense until the brightness fatigued her eyes so much that they forced themselves to rest.

“Welcome home, sweetheart. I’m afraid we have some sad news. Grandma died today.”

“Oh,” Jessa replied sadly.

“Come on, we’re late for the funeral,” her mother stepped into the backyard and took a seat at one of the pews.

“Our Jessa is going to say a few words now,” she announced to the guests. “Go on, love,” she nudged Jessa down the aisle.

Everyone watched Jessa walk nervously between the rows, toward the pulpit at the other end of the garden. Puddles lined the aisle, and despite her best effort not to step in them, her feet landed with a splash every time. Guests tutted in shame, looking down at Jessa’s bare, mud-covered feet.

“Jessa, I can’t believe you forgot to wear shoes to your grandmother’s funeral,” Maggie looked dismayed.

Jessa finally arrived at the pulpit and looked out over the mass of guests looking at her expectantly. She glanced down at her speech and took a breath, preparing to read, but quickly realised her notes made no sense. The page was covered in gibberish.

“I… I can’t…” she tried to speak but the words choked from her mouth.

Suddenly, everyone was running, screaming. Jessa noticed flames licking from inside her house.

“Jessa, do something!” Flynn yelled. “Call the fire department!”

Jessa pulled out her phone and frantically tried to dial 999 but the buttons weren’t working. She jammed her finger onto the number 9 over and over. But nothing. Every other number appeared on the screen, but not a single 9.

Then nothing.

Everyone was gone. The flames were gone. She was alone. The garden shed door was wide open, beckoning her inside.

She was somewhere else. A young boy sat on the floor, surrounded by colourful picture books. He looked at her from the depths of his hollow eye sockets and let out a guttural moan as his small hand etched a symbol over and over into the pages. The boy stood to his feet and stared directly at her. His fleshy little fingers started picking at the skin on his face, and it fell away in chunks.

“Jessa,” he said, pulling away a strip from his cheek. “Jessa. Jessa,” he said her name over and over, peeling away his skin with every syllable.

“No,” Jessa managed to get out. “Stop.”

He continued. His voice grew louder until it was so loud the entire room trembled under the resonance of her name. Louder still, and she screamed for it to stop. The floor beneath her began to crumble.

“Jessa, this way!” called a voice behind her.

Cecily Graves stood in a doorway, offering Jessa her hand. “Quick!”

Jessa reached and grabbed Cecily’s hand, leaping to safety just in time before the aged wooden floor fell away into oblivion.

“Are you okay?” Cecily asked, closing the door, plunging them into almost complete darkness.

“Yes. Thank you,” Jessa gasped, looking into Cecily’s dark eyes.

Cecily dipped her face closer and rested her hands on Jessa’s waist.

“What are you doing?” Jessa breathed.

Cecily answered with her lips, pressing them directly onto Jessa’s. Jessa surrendered to Cecily’s mouth. She received the warmth and let it spread through her whole body. She felt Cecily’s lips and her tongue, and then her hands running through her hair then onto her neck.

The caress turned to a grasp.

“Cecily, no—”

Cecily’s teeth gripped Jessa’s lower lip. Her hands held tighter and Jessa flailed, trying to push Cecily away.

Jessa gasped for air.

Cecily spat out a hunk of Jessa’s flesh and dove straight back in for more.

“No!” Jessa screamed. “No! No!”

Air. She gasped herself upright. Heart pounding, she kicked off the duvet and filled her lungs with unchoked air.

4:08am.

The bed sheet was thick with sweat and smelled like antiseptic cream. Jessa un-muted the television and watched, numb, as soap opera caricatures yammered in their imitation lives about nothing in particular.