Young Writers Society

It had started to rain.

I could hear splatters on the roof, a plinking echoing above my ears and around the nearly empty front room I sat in.

The windows were closed, and the couch pressed hard into my legs. I shifted, moving my books off my lap, staring at the crinkled burgundy curtains. They already looked dusty. But the lighting was so dim, I couldn't tell.

Mama had turned off all the lights except the tall lamp next to Papa. It was only me and him awake, sitting across from each other. He deep in study, though occasionally I would see him stare off into the distance, and me trying to finish my school.

Everyone else had gone to bed. 

But I didn't want to sleep. 

And apparently, neither did Papa.

The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen, and the clock ticked above my head.

I stared at Papa, and noticed more than ever the receding hairline, and invading gray on his head. He looked tired, his whole body slumped into the dark recliner, motionless and quiet.

"Papa," I said, and he glanced at me. His eyes were dark and weary, with bags like bruises hanging underneath.

I fingered the hem of my shirt, pressing my fingers into the thick cotton. "Don't you wonder why the church people act the way they do?"

He looked at me a second, forehead crinkling.

"They're acting weird around us," I added.

He hesitated, studying his papers. "Just because people don't like us at first doesn't mean they're part of some... cult." His eyes drifted to mine, and my heart flipped a bit. 

So he did know.

"But Papa," I said. "They're not going to hate us for no reason."

"It's always difficult when a pastor takes over a church who's not familiar with him." His voice was so low, I almost didn't hear him.

"But Papa," I said. "This isn't just any regular church."

"Maddie," he began, and I held in a frustrated sigh, sensing an impending story. "When my family first moved to pastor in Nevada... people weren't friendly. They avoided us, ignored us, told their children not to talk to the new PK's. They'd disrespect my father to his face, and go against everything they knew he stood for."

He looked me square in the face. "It took some time to adjust. But in the end, it was all worth the struggle."

It was only natural Papa would bring up that story. I was surprised he hadn't already.

"But this isn't Reno," I said, tightly. 

Reno wasn't founded on a cult, and Reno didn't have less than 100 citizens. We had more people in our church back home than Cedar Ravine had in population. Of course the people would receive us differently.

But Papa was stubbornly refusing to hear anything about the town's history, and it was beginning to irritate me.

Fine, then, I thought. You'll figure it out, eventually. Find out what you needed to know later when it will probably be too late.

A hard pound sounded against the door, and I jumped, books crashing against the floor.

Papa's head lifted. He looked at my books, then at me. There was a question on his face, and a hint of unease, that I felt sure only mirrored my own.

He eased himself slowly to his feet, and to the door, cracking it open just the slightest. Then wider, peering out into the dark. 

"Hello?" he called out.

But the only response was the rain, beating onto the house.

I sat up straighter on the couch. "There's something on the door." 

It looked like a white envelope taped to the wood.

He pulled it off, shutting the door after one more careful survey. "No one was out there," I heard him muse.

"They just left that?" Kentucky stood in the entrance to the hallway, eyes fixed on the Papa's hands. The knock must have awakened him - his dark hair was tousled, and his T-shirt rumpled.

Papa didn't say anything, didn't even seem to notice him, only sat back in the recliner, and opened the envelope, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

"What is it?" I asked, curiousity awakening.

I watched as he unfolded the paper, and his eyes scanned the page. Almost immediately a strange expression darkened his face. His mouth grew taut. "This isn't - no."

"Papa?" I frowned at him. "What is it?"

Kentucky moved to stand behind him, and with one glance his face twisted into nearly as strange of an expression as Papa's. 

He stared at the paper.

"What is it?" I slipped off the couch, and made a move to get over when Kentucky spoke: "It's a letter of termination."

"A what?"

Papa's face was tight. He set the paper down on his lap, everything about the movement stiff and rigid. "They want to get rid of us."

I froze, staring at him.

If Papa could have read my mind, he would have been horrified. Horrified at the spark of joy that ignited inside me. If they got rid of us, we could leave. If they got rid of us, I could go back home. No more Cedar Ravine. No more of this mess.

But then a flood of anger washed all happiness away.

"They can't do that," I said, sharply. "That doesn't - they can't. It's not their decision!" What was the deal with these people, anyway?! "Just because they hate us? That's why they're doing this?!"

"No," said Papa, and his voice was soft. He didn't look angry. Or upset. Now his face looked drained a little, as if life were beginning to evaporate from him. "They can't do that. And they know it."

"Then why - what?" I couldn't make sense of anything in my head.

"It's a threat," said Kentucky. His eyes moved to the window beside me, as if he expected to see something through the curtains, lurking in the shadows.

My chest tightened. It felt nearly as taut as Kentucky's face looked.

But Papa - Papa looked drained

I didn't like that look on his face.

------

Someone was pulling urgently at my arm. I heard muffled sobs, the crinkling of sheets around me. "Maddie... Maddie!" I recognized that girlish voice. "Maddie - I'm - scared!"

She was trying to crawl into bed beside me, pulling the blankets away from my body.

"What the -" I sat up, groggily, rubbing my eyes. My vision was blurry, and my mind felt hazy. "What are you doing?"

The moonlight lay flat on my quilt in pale stripes, illuminating the darkness, faintly. Enough to see the little figure of my sister burrowing into my side.

"I - I had a bad dream." Her entire body was trembling, shaking my bed. "J-Jackson died." She sobbed louder, "Jackson died!"

Chills pricked my skin, and I shuddered, almost instinctively. "No. No." I managed to wrap an arm around her, pulling the blankets around her. "No, it was just a dream, Kiley. It was just a dream."

"But Maddie," she cried. "He died. I'm scared!" She was clinging to me so tightly, I almost felt as if I couldn't breathe.

"Hey, hey," I soothed, shifting backwards to lean against the headboard. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay. Jackson's not going anywhere."

But there was an uneasy feeling that had seemed to awaken inside my stomach, and when I rested my chin on top of her trembling head I wished my heart didn't feel so heavy.