Chapter 3: A Shadow Over Carter

As soon as my aunt rattled off my cousin’s birthday, Mr. Hawthorne’s face went pale as a sheet. He stared at my cousin, jaw tight, and said nothing.

Nobody breathed. Even the cicadas seemed to hush up, waiting for what he’d say next. Mr. Hawthorne’s knuckles whitened on the notepad. My aunt’s lips trembled. The silence pressed down on all of us like the muggy heat.

Grandpa hurried forward, pressing a cigarette into Mr. Hawthorne’s hand, voice thick with fear. "Joe, please—you know I raised that boy myself. He’s all I got left. Don’t let him slip away."

Mr. Hawthorne took a shaky drag, eyes darting. "Your grandson’s run into something unclean and lost his soul. Lucky for y’all, his soul’s not gone far—it’s hiding right here at home. But I ain’t got the power to bring it back. You need someone better than me."

Grandpa’s voice broke. "You really can’t do nothing? That other fella… he’s sixty miles out. Can my grandson hang on till then?"

Mr. Hawthorne nodded. "He’ll hold on. His soul’s just lost, so he can’t wake up. That cemetery’s thick with bad energy. Let him stay in the sun—he’ll thaw out. Not only can he wait for the other man—even a couple days would be fine. I’d help if I could. But don’t wait—go get that man now."

The words hung in the air, heavy as thunderclouds. Uncle gripped his chair, knuckles white, and the rest of us just waited and prayed.