One Hundred Candles [2] by Mara Purnhagen

with and take the last votive when someone else reached for it. I sat back and watched as Gwyn claimed the final candle.
    “I’ve been saving this one for last,” she said. I sat back on my hands, happy that I wouldn’t have to tell another story and even happier that the game was nearly over. Next to me, Harris also sat back, his hand lightly brushing my own. I wondered if he’d touched me on purpose.
    “My parents are renovating this house,” Gwyn started. “It’s over a hundred years old, so they’re gutting the kitchen, replacing the roof, that kind of thing. It’s taking forever.”
    It was a familiar beginning to me. Home renovations often triggered dormant energy, a phenomenon my parents investigated more than any other. Their inquiries usually concluded that whatever the homeowner was experiencing amounted to little more than residual energy being stirred up, almost like someone shaking a bottle of juice. In fact, my parents received so many calls about strange things happening during a remodeling project that they rarely examined them anymore unless something truly unique stood out. I wondered if Gwyn’s parents had called mine.
    “About a week after they started working on the house, strange things began to happen,” Gwyn continued. “Little things, at first, like furniture or papers being moved at night, so that when we woke up the next day they were in the wrong place. Sometimes we heard footsteps in the hallway, and once my dad heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. The more work we did on the house, the more things happened.”
    I hoped Gwyn would hurry up. Nothing about her tale was all that unusual. I had to stifle a yawn as she went on to describe how her family took pictures that revealed orbs in the corner of the kitchen. Why people got worked up about small white balls of light in a photograph was beyond me. It was usually dust or bugs.
    “Last month it got really bad,” Gwyn said, her voice softer. “So bad, in fact, that my mom moved out.” I sat up straighter, ready to hear about something other than random noise and minor movement.
    “It was late at night, and we all heard sounds coming from downstairs, like furniture was being moved. My whole family went together—my parents and my brother and me—and sure enough, the dining room table had been pushed against a door.” She paused. “That’s when we saw the light. It was like someone was walking across the room holding a flashlight, but there was no one there, just the light. It glided right past us, and I felt a cold breeze when it did. Then I heard a voice. It was so clear and so close that for a second I thought my brother had said something, but it wasn’t my brother’s voice.”
    People were leaning forward, eager to hear the rest of the story. When Gwyn was silent for a second too long, a boy near her asked, “What did the voice say?”
    Gwyn flicked on the lighter and held up the final candle. “It said, ‘Thank you for pushing back the curtain.’”

five
    “Are you sure he’s not a serial killer?”
    “Hello, Noah. Happy New Year to you, too.” I leaned into the bathroom mirror to apply lip gloss while trying to balance the phone on my shoulder. The strange angle was aggravating my arm, though.
    “Sorry. Hi, Charlotte. Happy New Year. Now, are you absolutely sure Shane isn’t a serial killer?”
    I used my pinkie finger to wipe a little excess gloss from my top lip. “Pretty sure.”
    Noah was constantly asking me about Shane, who was like an uncle to me. While I was happy that Shane was dating Trisha, Noah was miserable that his mom was now going out all the time.
    “Because he fits the profile, you know. And he travels a lot, so he could have left behind dozens of corpses all over the country.”
    “Hmm. Well, that would explain the smell coming from his van.”
    Noah sucked in his breath and I laughed. “Kidding! Look, he’s a nice, normal guy who’s crazy about your mom. Be happy for