*****

Hideous encounters were nothing new for Plainwooders. Elementary school assemblies would warn students what to do when they get possessed. Middle school health classes preached the importance of abstinence from sects. High school curricula required at least two years of spirits classes to learn the history, culture, dos, and don’ts of meeting a demon. Yet by the time you would graduate, you still would have already had a personal ghost story to tell. Eileen Pritchett was a late bloomer. Despite living in the statue house, the infamous beacon for spirits, she herself had never gotten an encounter until her run-in with Natalie last night. Until then, she had always felt a combination of smugness and disappointment about it, and had developed a much more practical, unbiased view of the culture of encounters. But now, for the first time since high school graduation, her night in bed was an uneasy mix of tossing, turning, excitation, and discomfort. 

And the theremin tune blasting from her phone on the end table certainly didn’t help.

“Jesus, Matt, just text me like a normal person,” she whisper-grumbled as she squirmed under her blankets.

Once the tune shut off, Eileen tried again to fall asleep. She lay face up, eyes twitching, but with no intention of closing. Without a second passing when it came back on, she snatched the phone and waited for her cousin to say something.

“Eileeny!”

“Hey hey, Matt. Did you get a poltergeist too, or did you just leave your window open again?” Her voice was contaminated with sleep.

“It’s never a poltergeist, Eileen.” On the contrary, the man was alive and chipper, with a constant bit of chill and shiver in his words. “Wait, did you have an encounter?”

“No,” she said, rubbing her face. “I’m just tired. Can we save this for morning?”

“It is morning, Eileen.”

Eileen squinted through the sliding glass door. Not a ray of sunrise in sight. She sighed and scowled, “Alright, what’s up?”

“So last night, I saw someone I’ve never seen before walk up to the house right next to yours. With bags and everything. We’ve got a new neighbor!”

Eileen sprung from the couch. “Are you seriousing me?” Her body rolled and slid off with a loud thump. Picking herself up and wiping her clothes, she regained her awake energy. “Alrighty. What day is it?”

“Sunday.”

“Thank god! I’ll see you in a minute.”

Eileen rushed up to her bedroom and got herself prepared for the day. She threw on a grey tee, slipped into one of her only two pairs of jeans that weren’t torn at the knees, and slid on her thin white gloves. She knew that no Plainwooder, let alone Matt Kennett, would ever dare set foot near Eileen’s house; the myths and legends put too much at stake. So whenever Matt would call her to meet in person, she would instinctively head straight across to his place. Many Plainwooders would consider living on Riverside Road something only “a heathen who is dumb and ugly and also stupid” would do, but there were its perks. For example, the three occupied households were all next to each other, making it easy to visit loved ones and hated ones alike.

Eileen maneuvered herself around Matt’s front yard, where steppingstones, a small fountain, and an enormous rock garden were precisely placed in a puzzling pattern for anyone to trip over. Matt sprung to the foyer as soon as the door chimed. “Eileen!” he greeted. She sat at the kitchen table fidgeting with her fingers—she always had to fidget with something; that was a family thing. Matt was at the stove making Swiss cheese and spinach omelets. Even with the gloves he wore, he always kept his left hand in his pocket where neither he nor anyone else could see it.

“You don’t seem excited,” said Matt. He did all he could to read her, but all she ever showed on her face was a Moai head of neutrality. “Seriously, if you did have an encounter, tell me. The last thing I want is for anything to happen to you.”

“I’m just processing.” Eileen finally said. “Why—” she shook her head and instead opened her journal to a blank page. Why are people moving here? How did they find us? She snapped the book shut and continued. “So, the neighbor, they’re actually living here?

“Mm-hmm.” Matt affirmed in a giddy hum.

“And you’re fine with that?”

“I mean, yeah! Means I’m doing my job right!” he danced in place in playful bliss and blissful ignorance.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “So what’s the plan? You’re gonna head over there, insert yourself into their life, and push yourself onto them until Stockholm syndrome kicks in and they decide to be friends with you?”

“That’s the idea! Ooh, maybe I can get Archie to set up a welcome party!” Matt’s excitement had made him blur out the middle of her sentence. “Good idea for the future. For now, I’m just wondering how to greet them without getting too close to your place. You think they’ll introduce themself to us?”

“Of course, I imagine them knocking on the door with their hands folded and they’re just like, ‘Um, can you, like, talk to me, please?’ ”

Matt turned from the stove and tried his best to leer at Eileen without giggling. “You are so annoying sometimes.”

“Only sometimes now! I consider that a step up!”

Matt inhaled and shook his head, ignoring her. “Well, unlike you, I care about what people think about me, so I would like to make a good first impression. If I go to their house, I’ll be on your side of the road, I’m gonna be all riled up, and I’m gonna choke.”

“You’ll do fine.” Eileen smirked as Matt sprinkled salt in the eggs and threw the rest over his shoulder. “Besides,” she turned serious for the moment, “first impressions don’t mean anything once they get to know you.” 

Matt slid two plates onto the table. Both reached for the slightly larger omelet, but Matt instinctively redirected himself to the one Eileen wasn’t grabbing. He cleared his throat and sat back with perfect posture.

“…Or maybe as a last resort, I could convince them to move away from my nightmare house,” Eileen snarked. “Then if it works, I could try and convince you too.”

Matt was only half-paying attention when she said that, so when he finally processed everything, he swallowed some omelet and gave an accusatory point of his fork at her. “Don't joke about that. What'll happen when I'm gone? Vivian takes my place as the one saving us from your statue beckoning the spirits? You’ll be begging me back.”

Eileen flinched. “No no, you’re right” She reached back for her pen and book. “…Still, how do you know it isn’t Vivian keeping the statue from summoning demons?” Eileen always had to fluff up her serious remarks with a good layer of sarcasm to keep people guessing what her true thoughts and feelings were.

“Ech,” Matt drooled out his mouthful of omelet. “As far as I know, she was the psycho summoned by it in the first place.”

Eileen shook her head and snickered, “Jesus, how can you be such a fearmonger and still wonder why everyone hates you?”

“I'm the fearmonger? Remind me why Vivian and Dawn got married, again.”

“Well, ‘cause Dawn loves to spite me, I thought that was obvious.”

Eileen sat still and shut up. They would always somehow spiral into an ever-sinking pit of awkward silence in their conversations. It always became a huge informal standoff of who would dare break it.

“So how are the omelets?” Matt said. “I used spinach this time.”

“Oh yeah? What happened to kale?”

“Gave most of it to Cliffe. He said he needed ‘something to repel the inevitable protesters.’ Well, I’m rambling again. I’d hate to keep you here if you have any other things to do on this beautiful day.”

“You really think I’m going to spend my Sunday doing something? I didn’t even know it was still the weekend.”

“I’m just saying is all.”

“It sounds like you want me to leave.”

Matt perked up and leaned closer. “What? No no! Never! If I could, I would have you around all day!”

“If you want me to leave, you can say it to my face. I have thick skin, I can handle it,” Eileen said as her face was already halfway to the door.

“I hate when you do this.”

“Well, thanks for breakfast, anyway, Matt. I’ll see you around, okay? Keep me updated on the newbie, alright?”

She ruffled Matt’s already-ruffled bedhead hair as a goodbye and ran back to her house. Matt walked out to the porch to watch her safely return across the street, overthinking and overanalyzing the more she left his property. Wait, why would she ask me if I was fine with a new resident? The statue up on Eileen's roof brooded over him, sending chills up and down his spine.

Of all customs and cultures in Plainwood, the house with the statue was no doubt the most prominent. To few people in Plainwood, the house was nothing more than a building with a stone hand on the roof, just a curious taste in architecture. To the majority, it was an omen, a reminder. No one knew exactly what it meant, but they knew it had a left hand with a scarred palm, and that was all they needed to fuel their aversion.

And once Eileen finally disappeared from view, the chills crept back behind Matt. No, that would never be the case. We haven't gotten haunted in so long. People want to come to Plainwood. Besides, if something were to happen, Eileen would have told me. Brr, it's cold today. I should head inside.