Page 72 of When the Night Comes Knocking

At least that’s what her boyfriend had told her after leaning down to check Grace’s pulse where she lay in the road under the wash of headlights.

She’s dead, Kimi. There’s nothing else we can do for her. If we call for help now, it’ll only ruin our lives.

And yet, as she helped him carry the broken body of the girl who used to be her childhood best friend out deeper and deeper into the woods, she thought she had seen the smallest twitch of a finger, painted in the same shade of blue polish Kimi had gifted her for her birthday the year before.

Ama closed her eyes with a ragged, deep breath, looking more skeletal than alive. She muttered something, then brought the gold medallion that hung from her necklace up to her lips. She kissed it and looked Kimi dead in the eyes—the hawk once more.

“If Grace is dead, then you know what that really is at the door. You know it’s got the smell of your guilt now,” she says, low and unwavering. “It will seek you out for the rest of your days, until you relinquish your heart and take on its cursed spirit. That’s all the creature wants, for someone to free it from the darkness and take its place holding up the mountain. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Kimi?”

The fear wrapped around Kimi’s heart like a boa constrictor. She shook her head as if to shake away every haunted bedtime story Ama had forced her to sit through as a young girl.

“This is not a story anymore,” Ama continued, gripping Kimi’s hands with surprising strength. “This is a promise.”

Kimi broke free, instead clutching tightly to the handmade quilt covering the bed. “Please, Ama, I’m so scared,” she begged, practically gasping for air. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to yank the blanket over her head. “I can’t do this. I’m not strong like you.”

A rattling sigh escaped from her grandmother. “No one strong was ever fearless, girl.”

Kimi sucked in a sharp breath, waiting for Grace’s knocking to start up again at any moment—waiting for that awful pleading to come spilling through the cracks of the front door before eagerly filling up all the cracks splintering her own heart.

But the only sounds were that of her grandmother’s shallow breathing and the hum of cicadas in the night.

Kimi forced open her eyes. “Nothing scares you,” she said, glancing up at Ama.

The corners of her grandmother’s mouth twitched, and Kimi realized suddenly she had no recollection of the last time the woman truly smiled. Too much time had been lost to simply trying to keep her well.

“Oh, I’ve been plenty afraid,” Ama admitted, nodding weakly. “I’ve been afraid of leaving you, when you’ve barely just begun.” She reached up a veiny hand and cupped Kimi’s face, gently stroking her cheek. “My love, I’ve been afraid of not seeing who you’ll grow up to be.”

When her grandmother gripped her hands again, Kimi did not pull away. She held on tight, letting their pulses thrum in unison.

“But you have to understand that fear is the thing that makes us strong, when we choose to act in spite of it,” Ama rasped, tugging Kimi in closer until she could practically see her reflection outlined in every wrinkle and sun memory etched across her grandmother’s face. “When we choose to face forward, even when our hands are shaking,” she said before slipping into a low string of coughs.

Kimi reached for the water glass on the bedside table, raising it to Ama’s chapped lips.

The woman took a long sip before nudging the glass away. She met Kimi’s eye again. “We’ll wait out the night,” Ama said while tugging the quilt up higher toward her chin. “Maybe Nature will surprise us. Maybe this spirit will look elsewhere.”

Kimi bit down on her trembling lip and gripped her grandmother’s hand once more. “Maybe,” she whispered, watching the woman’s eyes begin to drift shut with sleep.

“We’ll wait out the night,” Ama repeated quietly.

Kimi clung to the words like a lifeline, until some fragile version of sleep claimed her too.

—

The next day, Kimi spent most of it locked away in her own room. Her mind raced with what was to come, and yet she knew in her gut that this was what she deserved—that Nature must keep the balance, as Ama had always said.

That night, when the sun finally disappeared behind the trees, Kimi was shocked at the silence that sat heavy over the house. There was no knocking; in fact, she couldn’t even hear the orchestral buzz of cicadas outside.

When Kimi pushed open the door to Ama’s bedroom, it was with a small hope rising in her chest.

Maybe it really has moved on to a guiltier heart, she thought. Maybe Nature has spared us.

“Ama—”

But she would never share the words. The bed was empty with the quilt pulled back neatly. On the pillow, there was a folded note.

Kimi anxiously reached for it, feeling a coldness pour over her entire body. Ama’s writing had grown shakier the sicker she’d grown, though the three sentences on the page were written with perfect, neat letters that simply read:

“If you ever see that I’ve been lost to its darkness, you must end it. Do that for me, my love. Do that and face forward.”