Deviant

Chapter 15

Elias

She took the bait.

Just like I knew she would.

If everything in life could be as predictable as her.

I bet she’s been thanking her lucky stars ever since Nora’s little black book found its way into her hands.

She probably thinks it’s fate.

It’s not fate, Rowen. It’s karma.

What goes around comes around.

Little do you know that my sister’s black book isn’t the gift you regard it to be, but the curse that will ensure your ruin.

Of course, before I handed her Nora’s notebook, I took pictures of every page on my phone. Hence why I knew that she would be at this clearing tonight, hidden away just a few yards behind Hollow Cemetery.

Nora’s research certainly made for an intriguing read, even if much of it resembled a fictional horror story. However, every soul living in Blackwater Falls would assure you that it is anything but fiction.

Apparently, the Harvest Festival was created at the turn of the century. I don’t know by whom since Nora only referred to them as Hosts. At that time, people were taken right from their beds, and their butchered bodies ended up washing ashore down Silverstone Lake almost a month later.

However, it seems that around the Great Depression, the Hosts weren’t happy with the candidates they kidnapped, as most of them were so starved of nourishment that they were half-dead already. So they gathered all the influential families of the town to make a sinister alliance.

Blackwater Falls would be financially funded by them from that day on to ensure the town would flourish and all its inhabitants would thrive and lead productive and healthy lives. The Hosts also vowed that every chosen person for the games would be well compensated along with their family—none more so than the winner. Their generosity, however, came with strings attached that the prominent families couldn’t refuse—no one could ever leave Blackwater Falls nor contact anyone in the outside world to divulge their secret.

But this is where the tale gets interesting—an Irish immigrant who had previously come across Blackwater Falls by accident and decided to stay after falling in love with one of the town’s most eligible daughters, thought it prudent not to give in to all of the Hosts’ demands without setting some of his own. He proposed that the winner and their family should be given the choice to leave Blackwater Falls should they wish to do so. He also proposed that the townsfolk would—should they want to—be able to volunteer themselves to the games instead of the Hosts picking them at will. If they agreed to his terms, the town would celebrate their macabre peace treaty every year by throwing a grand festival to announce the candidates. Surprisingly enough, the Hosts conceded to his demands, and the Harvest Festival was born.

This man’s last name just so happened to be O’Sullivan—the same as the priest’s.

Hmm.

Perhaps when the priest first stumbled upon this clearing, he realized the bedtime stories he had heard in his youth were not merely myths passed down through generations but the harsh truth about how this town made a deal with the devil.

I’m not quite sure when the choice to volunteer for the games got forgotten, but if I were to guess, I’m positive it came down to people getting tired of being expected to sacrifice themselves for the greater good of the town. So they buried the secret down deep, until the only one who knows about it is a senile old priest with no remaining living relatives to share the tale.

Just goes to show that selfishness and self-preservation will always win out in the end.

Whatever the case, I’m just glad that little Rowen is playing her part to perfection. She’s so preoccupied with following Nora’s instructions down to a T that she doesn’t even realize I’m watching her from behind the shadows. Just like on the bridge, her worldview starts and ends with her and her suffering. Everything else falls to the sideline in comparison to her own guilt and grief. And because of it, I’ve been able to use her distraction to my advantage, watching her every move without her being none the wiser.

I watch her walk into the clearing toward the abandoned well, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any feral animals that might appear, thinking them to be her largest threat tonight.

I can’t help but chuckle at her sheer naivety, so oblivious that I’m the only animal on the hunt tonight.She looks up at the sky when she reaches the well, staring lovingly at the moon as if it were her best friend. She then pulls my sister’s backpack off her shoulders and retrieves a small bottle with a piece of paper inside. My nostrils flare, knowing exactly what she must have written.

Every volunteer needs to share with the Hosts their deepest darkest secret.

I don’t need to read the contents in that bottle to know precisely what Rowen wrote down with her own hand.

I killed my best friend last year.

I try to temper my rage, watching her hold up the bottle to the middle of the well, releasing it on the count to three.

“Good girl,” I whisper under my breath.

There’s no turning back now.

She’s sealed her fate.

But it’s in this moment that moonlight decides to illuminate her, my breath catching in my throat at the genuine smile that crests her face.

It’s like all her prayers have been answered.

She just basically signed her death warrant, and yet, she’s never looked happier, looked more alive.

I’m troubled by her reaction, conflicted with the notion that she doesn’t fear death as I previously assumed. After so many failed attempts at the bridge, I thought it was fear that kept her from jumping.

She doesn’t look afraid to me. Not now, at least.

Hmm. That could be a problem.

No matter. The first part of my plan is done. Now, all I need is to complete the second part.

I wait impatiently for Rowen to leave the clearing, but it takes her forever. She just stares at the moon with that goofy grin on her face.

It’s fucking unnerving.

“Come on… come on… we don’t have all night,” I grumble, irritated at being unable to light up a cigarette for fear that she might see it.

Her moment of peace is abruptly shattered by the ringtone of her phone, forcing her to quickly answer it. I naturally assume it’s her father calling, considering she has no friends. After a couple of nods, she hangs up and hurries out of the clearing.

Thank fuck for that.

After ensuring the coast is clear, I leave my hiding spot and finally light a cigarette. I then stroll over to the old well and take a quick peek inside. However, the well is extremely deep, and it’s too dark to see anything down there. With the cigarette in one hand, I shove the other into the pocket of my leather jacket to retrieve a little bottle of my own—with a note inside especially written to the Hosts —and drop it in the well.

I’m no threat to you.

I have no intention of winning your fucked-up games.

All I want is to kill Rowen Hawthorne.

Her death, by my hand, will be enough of a prize to me.

That is my secret.

Do with it what you will.

If that doesn’t get me an invite to The Scourge, nothing will.