The Crossroads

Billy O’Claire hid in the woods all day and into the night.

After chasing the boys into the graveyard, he fought hard against the evil spirit that had invaded his body, just like the nun had said Mee Maw wanted him to. Eberhart eventually left and Billy crept deeper into the forest and followed a creek downhill until it met up with the Pattakonck River. He shadowed the river for a mile or two and ended up behind Spratling Manor at the family’s ramshackle boathouse. Billy opened its creaky doors, slipped inside, and, exhausted, fell asleep.

The sun set around eight-thirty.

That was when the soul of Clint Eberhart returned.

“Hello, Billy boy. It’s time for me to meet your son.”

Clint made Billy stumble up a crumbling garden path and rip a fistful of wildflowers from a tangle of weeds. They headed for the single illuminated window in Spratling Manor.

“This window is absolutely filthy,” Miss Spratling said to Sharon. “Remind me to fire your mother!” She paused. “My, my, my. Hello. Isn’t that your boyfriend?”

Sharon whirled around.

Billy was leering through the window over the kitchen sink.

“Well, well, well. Invite him in, dearie. Invite him in.”

“No!”

“Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket!”

Billy held up the clump of wildflowers.

“My, my, my. It appears that young Prince Charming has brought you flowers!” Miss Spratling gestured grandly to her right. Billy slipped away from the window.

“Miss Spratling, I don’t think we should let him—”

“Don’t be such a big baby, Sharon. Honestly.”

A tense moment later, Billy sauntered into the kitchen. “Hey, Gerdy. What’s shakin’?”

Miss Spratling’s heart fluttered. Only one man had ever called her Gerdy: Clint Eberhart!

“Hey there, Shari baby.”

No one had ever called Sharon Jones Shari. Not Billy. Not anyone.

“Who are you?” Sharon stepped back.

“Who am I?” The man laughed. “Why, I just happen to be the proud father of your bouncing baby boy.” He put on his cutest, dimpled smile. “We were married for a while. Remember, dolly?”

Embarrassed, Sharon nodded. “Yes.”

“You two were married?” Miss Spratling fanned herself. “My, my, my, Sharon. Keeping secrets? My, my, my.”

“I need to see my boy, Shari. Need to see Aidan real bad.”

“No.”

The man pursed his lips. “Purdy, purdy please?”

“No.”

Sharon remembered Billy’s plea: “No matter what I say. No matter what I do. Don’t let me anywhere near Aidan.”

“Why do you wish to see Aidan at this hour?” Miss Spratling twirled a strand of stringy hair around her wrinkled finger. “What’s your tale, nightingale?”

The man smiled a devilish grin. “Do you know where my boy is, Gerdy?”

“Miss Spratling, please,” begged Sharon. “Don’t tell him!”

“Of course I know where Aidan is, dearie. I know everything.”

“Good. ’Cause I need to see my boy. Need to see him real bad.”

“Get out of here, Billy! I mean it! Leave!”

Billy laughed. “I need your son, Shari. This Billy body is no good for me anymore. Won’t do what I tell it to do.”

He lunged at Sharon.

She kicked over a chair and ran.

Sharon dashed through the pantry, darted right, and raced across the dining room.

She veered left and headed down a long hall into the old ballroom. There were doors on all sides of the vast, empty space. She took the one that would take her past the library, through the portrait gallery, into the foyer, and out to the driveway. Once outside, she’d race to the carriage house and save her son.

Sharon realized she had only one advantage over her pursuer: She knew her way around the ratty old mansion in the dark; he didn’t. But she could hear Billy behind her. Stumbling. Cursing every time he crashed into furniture.

Sharon made it to the front door. As she grabbed the doorknob, she felt a push.

Someone was on the other side, trying to get in!

Had Billy crawled through a window? Was he outside?

Sharon let go of the knob and backed away from the door.

“Hello?” came a man’s voice from the other side. “Is somebody there?”

“Yes?” Sharon was shaking.

“I’m Sheriff Ben Hargrove with the North Chester Police,” said the voice. “May we come in?”

“Yes. Please! Hurry!”