Cryerswood

Cryerswood has always been a town of secrets. An efficient machine that runs on whispers and hushed lips, where school children learn to hide evidence between pencils before they tell the truth.

Now one thing you learn very quickly from living in Cryerswood is that to assume anything is to ensure stupidity. Only a fool believes that which they do not discover themselves, a fact I learnt very quickly on the morning of October 8th when I discovered a blood-red envelope in my locker. One year exactly since the death of my best friend.

It read, 'Trust No One'.

Now one thing I feel you must know is that she didn’t merely die, Faun Holden was murdered.

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I found a certain solace in pondering over ominous, high-brow writing equipment. It is a shame about the threatening message, although it does help to pass the horrific lunch hour rather nicely. Today was always going to be foul, but this definitely wasn’t on my bingo card.

Only three months after it happened the pitying glances had already fizzled to complete social isolation. My personal favourite didn’t arrive until month four when the ‘school compensated counselling’ suddenly rebranded to ‘£50 a session counselling‎’. I didn’t realise grief had an expiry date, but here we are.

Unfortunately, anniversaries are a great way to remind people to show human emotion. Couples conjure flowers, colleagues create cards, and classmates recall their compassion, the natural flow of society as we know it.

“It's a nice colour.” Josie Brown. The pint-size, third member of our prior friendship group. We haven’t spoken since Christmas.

“Pardon?”

“Your hair. You shouldn’t have cut it, but the colour is lovely.” She is being entirely serious.

“Thanks.” I smiled brightly at her, probably too brightly considering the day. She moved to sit down, flashing her yellow sandals over the bench like warning lights. The half moons from my water bottle suddenly proved an excellent source of entertainment for my task-less hands while Josie prepared herself.

I cringed at the set-up, the nostalgia of it. I can see the three of us, sixteen years old, Faun next to me while Josie spun a blonde ringlet around her finger, sifting through phrases as if they were verses:

"I feel like we should talk." or, "I want to be honest with you both...", and if we were very lucky, "Let's take it in turns to say how we feel.".

“I've been thinking of you a lot recently.” I gave an affirming nod. That was a new one.

“When the anniversary started creeping up…and now course, well, it’s here.” Josie took a big breath, making the whites of her eyes flash like a frightened horse.

“Yes, me too. I didn’t think it would go this fast.” It was her turn to nod. I wondered whether it was to knock her eyes back into place. Thankfully, the next round of awkward silence was interrupted.

Another thing you need to know about Faun’s murder is that there is technically no murderer. Not one reliable witness or morsel of evidence came up. Nothing, and no one suffered. Not legally. Still, as Louis Holden emerged from the magenta-pink doorway of Lunchroom-2, I felt my entire stomach empty.

Louis Holden. The brother, and last known contact, of Faun. Also, and most conveniently, the previous sole competitor in their family dynasty. So overall, not a fan favourite. It didn’t take long for the rest of the student body to join in with the open-mouthed staring, which prompted Louis to puff his chest out proudly. Then, like something from one of Faun’s old horror flicks, his neck started turning towards us. The bastard had the nerve to smirk.

“Hey Chestnut-” an old nickname, “nice hair.” I wanted to hit him.

“Not chestnut anymore."

“I can see that. Very orange.” I smacked his hand out of the air. The ass was actually going to touch it.

“No, not the hair. Just don’t call me that.” His eyes flicked behind me, I had almost forgotten Josie was still there. “So, what do you want?”

His eyes lingered on Josie for a second, “I wanted to know whether you were coming tonight?” He read my vacant expression correctly as he continued, “Did you not receive an invite?”

Ah, the ominous, high-brow writing equipment, of course. I slid the silky envelope out of my pocket, its red sheen making my water art appear like blood. Not wanting to reveal my secret admirer, I made no move to open the thing. After he realised this, Louis coughed awkwardly and gestured at the paper.

“Uh, that…that would be it. Should have an address on the back too.” Instead of checking, I waved the paper in front of his face. “Did you send these?” A dark look seemed to pass over his eyes, then, as quickly as it came, vanished.

He looked right at me then and chuckled, “Don’t be stupid.” he started to walk away, red shoes snapping noisily against the tile. “You always get it wrong, don't you, Chestnut?”

I was too unnerved to say anything other than: “What time?”

Those stupid trainers squeaked as he hesitated. “The same time it always was.”

Without another word, he disappeared through the swinging lunchroom doors.

By the time I turned back, Josie had disappeared.