Chapter 4: Poison in the Shadows

In the dead of night, half-asleep, I suddenly heard the old wooden door groaning in the main room.

The sound was faint, but unmistakable. I held my breath, straining to hear. Footsteps creaked on the floorboards, slow and careful.

Soft footsteps headed toward the back porch.

I slipped out of bed, bare feet cold on the floor. I crept to the window, heart pounding in my chest.

I shot up and crept to the back window to peek out.

The glass was foggy, but I could just make out two figures moving in the darkness. Mom and Dad, hunched and hurried, carrying baskets.

I saw my parents go into the shed, hauling basket after basket of something.

They moved like thieves, glancing over their shoulders. The baskets looked heavy, and I could hear the faint clink of glass jars inside.

It was too dark and too far to see what was in the baskets.

I pressed my face to the glass, squinting. The moonlight caught on something bright, but I couldn’t tell what it was. My mind raced with possibilities.

After the door shut, I grabbed my flashlight and crept outside.

I slipped on my sneakers, careful not to make a sound. The air was sharp and cold, the grass wet beneath my feet. I moved like a shadow, hugging the side of the house.

From my parents’ room came the steady thud of something being pounded—dull, rhythmic, like they were grinding something.

The sound was muffled but relentless. I inched closer, flashlight off, ears straining. It sounded like a mortar and pestle, something being crushed again and again.

I shone my light on the ground and found bits of mushroom.

They were scattered near the back steps, bright and unnatural. My stomach clenched as I recognized them—poisonous, the kind we were always warned about as kids.

The caps were shriveled and cracked, but their bright colors still showed.

Red, yellow, even a weird blue. I remembered Danny pointing them out on hikes, telling me which ones could kill a person in minutes.

They were grinding up poisonous mushrooms in their bedroom?

It sounded insane, but the evidence was right there at my feet. My parents, the people I trusted most, were making poison in the dead of night.

Just then, I heard voices inside.

I froze, heart in my throat. I pressed my ear to the thin wooden wall, straining to make out the words.

“Danny’s gone. We can’t let Lila run off, too, or we’ll never survive.”

Mom’s voice was low, trembling. I could hear the fear behind her words, the desperation.

“Yeah, I know. She won’t get away.”

Dad sounded tired, beaten down. There was no warmth in his voice, just grim determination.

“What if she passes quarantine?”

Mom’s words were sharp, panicked. I could hear her pacing, the floor creaking under her feet.

“She won’t. With this stuff, there’s no way…”

Dad’s reply was final, absolute. My blood ran cold.

They really were drugging my food!

I stumbled back from the wall, bile rising in my throat. My own parents—how could they?

Everything my brother said was true!

I felt dizzy, the world tilting beneath me. I clung to the side of the house, trying to breathe. Danny hadn’t been crazy. He’d been right all along.

Why were they trying to stop me from passing quarantine?

The question echoed in my mind, louder and louder. What were they so afraid of? What did they know that I didn’t?

Did they know the truth about the town, like my brother?

Was there something about the quarantine, the blue stamp, that they couldn’t say out loud? Something dangerous?

But why not tell me?

I thought of all the times they’d lied, all the secrets they’d kept. Was it to protect me, or to protect themselves?

Was it because they couldn’t prove it—and if they talked, the county board would just have them shot?

The fear was real. I’d seen what happened to people who asked too many questions. Maybe silence was the only way to survive.

My thoughts raced all night until dawn.

I paced my room, chewing my nails, jumping at every sound. The sun crept over the hills, turning the sky pink and gold. I felt hollow, emptied out by fear.

I pretended to sleep in, but my swollen, red eyes stayed glued to the crack in the door. I watched as Dad scooped a spoonful of powder into my bowl and mixed it fast.

He moved with practiced ease, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. I lay perfectly still, barely breathing.

He was putting poisonous mushroom powder in my oatmeal.

I watched the powder dissolve, turning the oatmeal a sickly gray. My stomach churned at the thought of eating it.

“Lila, get up and eat breakfast.”

Mom’s voice was sweet, too sweet. It sent a chill down my spine. I forced myself to sit up, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

Mom called several times, but I ignored her.

I pulled the covers over my head, pretending not to hear. My heart pounded, sweat soaking my pajamas.

I didn’t know how to face them. Should I eat that oatmeal or not?

The question felt impossible. If I refused, would they force me? If I ate, would I die? I was trapped, either way.