Mothman's Curse by Christine Hayes Page B

gotta get back to work now, okay?”
    Between Mitch’s teasing and my disappointment at not seeing Dad, my mood was in freefall. I just wanted to be alone.
    I stomped to my room and slammed the door, not bothering to say hello to Fox and Mason or wait around for their reaction to the news about Dad. I took out the lockbox. I found the moth stickpin and set it on my dressing table. Then I sat down and met my own eyes in the mirror, daring myself to put on the pin to see if anything would happen.
    I let my fingers hover over the pin, then scooped it up and wrapped both hands around it. The cold metal bit into my skin like a shard of ice. I held it for as long as I could stand it, the cold biting deeper, sharper, watching my features twist in the mirror as my hands took the abuse.
    At last, with a quick yelp of pain, I dropped the pin. It bounced and rattled across the table. I watched, transfixed, as it traveled the entire surface before falling to the carpet with a muted thump. I thought about leaving it there; my hand still ached from holding it. But I didn’t want anyone else to find it. Sighing, I crawled under the dressing table to retrieve it, a sleeve stretched over my palm to blunt the chill.
    â€œJosie?”
    I jumped. My head hit the underside of the table.
    â€œOuch!”
    â€œJosie?” Fox’s voice drifted through the door. “You in there?”
    I slipped the pin into my pocket just as he peeked in. “Josie, hey, do you—what are you doing down there?”
    â€œNothing. I dropped something.” I crawled out, rubbing the tender spot on the back of my head. “What’s up?”
    â€œYou heard about Dad, I guess.”
    â€œYeah.”
    He hesitated. “You still want to go see that hairdresser today? We could make it there and back on our bikes before dinner.”
    â€œOkay. Maybe she’ll be more helpful than Mitch was.”
    â€œMitch? What do you mean?”
    I sank down on the edge of my bed. “Oh, nothing. I asked him about Mothman, and he practically laughed in my face.”
    â€œWhy did you do that, Josie? Of course he laughed.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter. He’s not going to tell anyone. He thinks I’m just a stupid kid.”
    Fox sat down beside me. “No, he doesn’t. Some people just can’t handle talking about supernatural stuff.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure Aunt Barb’s hairdresser isn’t one of those people. Let’s go.”
    *   *   *
    Mason was so disappointed about Dad not coming home that Aunt Barb had to bribe him with cookies and a few “new” broken electronics to keep him happy.
    Fox assured Aunt Barb with a straight face that we were going to the library to catch up on homework. She even packed us a snack.
    It was a three-mile ride, but we found the beauty salon easily enough. It was just down the street from the Supercuts where Dad always took us.
    As we locked up our bikes, Fox said, “If she’s here, she’ll be working. She can’t just take time off to answer a bunch of questions. You have to get her to cut your hair. She’ll talk the whole time.”

    I clutched my twin braids. “I don’t know, Fox.” When Momma was sick and lost her hair, I cut mine short so she wouldn’t feel so bad. She’d caught me with scissors in hand and a pile of my hair in the bathroom sink. We cried, and then we laughed, and for a little while it seemed like everything might be okay. When she died, it took me a year to start letting it grow out again. It took another two years to get it this long, and I was too ashamed to admit that I liked the way it looked, a rich wheat color, thick and shiny. I liked how I could toss it casually over my shoulder, flash a smile, and pretend for a moment that I was as confident as Fox.
    â€œC’mon, Josie. You don’t have to get it chopped off; just get a trim.” He gave me his hurt