Birdseye

By Shawn Winchell

On a small island just off the Oregon coast, everyone's got a secret. And everyone is holding a grudge.

 

From the school bully to the new-in-town pastor of the church, does anyone really know their neighbors?

 

Lucy is a nine-year-old girl; socially awkward and extremely intelligent. After her family experienced a tragedy, she took it upon herself to always look after her younger brother.

 

When tragedy strikes again, Lucy starts digging around to try to make sense of it all.

 

In the process, she uncovers Birdseye's darkest secret.

 

But knowing the truth may cost her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Burnt Wick Press
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223773382

Book preview

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ALSO BY SHAWN WINCHELL

Eliza

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Visit www.shawnwinchell.com to learn more.

BIRDSEYE

SHAWN WINCHELL

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and events portrayed are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Shawn Winchell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

ISBN (hardcover): 979-8-9881396-3-8

ISBN (paperback): 979-8-9881396-4-5

Burnt Wick Press

37842 Schulze Rd

Concrete, WA 98237

www.burntwickpress.com

www.shawnwinchell.com

1

We don’t talk about the accident . That’s been the one rule in our house since the day it happened. Sometimes I think things might be better if we did.

Mom and Dad left us with Ms. Evelyn last night. It’s the first time they’ve gone anywhere together since the accident. They took the ferry to the mainland and booked a room at the hot springs near Portland. Good for them. Maybe it’ll help. Probably not, but at least it gives Levi and me a break from all the shouting.

Lucy? You okay, sweetheart? Ms. Evelyn raps a bony knuckle on the windowsill near my elbows.

I jump at the sound of her voice. Yeah. Just thinking, I guess.

Okay, Ms. Evelyn says, stretching the last syllable for an extra second. She’s smiling, but her pale eyes give away her concern. If you ever want to talk about all that thinking you do, you know I’m always ready to listen.

I’m fine. She knows I’m lying, but she also knows Mom’s rule. Pushing my chair back from the window, I stand up and change the subject. Where’s Levi?

Ms. Evelyn cocks her thumb over her shoulder. He’s in the back room, fiddling with that old radio.

She pats the top of my head before returning to the cart she’s using to restock the shelves. Birdseye General is the only store on the island. During the summer, it’s not so bad—people here mostly eat what they grow—but come October, Ms. Evelyn never seems to be able to keep food on the shelves until spring. Especially once the radio man starts talking about the first big storm of the year.

The aisle I walk down is picked clean. A single can of stewed tomatoes and a beat-up box of mac-and-cheese are the only things on any of the shelves.

As I start to push the swinging door that leads into the back room, I hear something. It’s not the radio.

I had one just like this when I was your age, Father Herb says to Levi. The trick is to close your hand around the antenna. That’ll get rid of the static.

Levi is all smiles. He hasn’t smiled as much as a four-year-old should since the accident. It’s nice to see him like that.

Even if I don’t trust Father Herb.

Herbert West is the only person I know who actually chose to live on Birdseye. Everyone who grows up here can’t wait to be old enough to leave, even if most of us never do. But not Father Herb. When he moved here last year, he told us that he travelled a lot with his mom when he was younger. When he turned fifty, he decided that he wanted to plant his roots in a beautiful place with a great sense of community. Everyone at church that day ate it up. I thought it sounded a little too rehearsed.

Thanks, Mister Father! Levi shouts, bouncing excitedly over to grab the rabbit ears. That’s what Levi always calls him. He thinks Father Herb’s first name is Father.

With Levi’s hand curled around the antenna, the radio man’s voice becomes crystal clear.

And for all you folks tuning in out there on Birdseye, get ready for the storm of the century. It’s heading your way next week.

Turn that crap off, Levi. You know what Dad always says about listening to the radio man talk about weather. It can’t be the storm of the century if it happens every year. Dad’s gut knows more about the weather than that guy, who has probably never even seen the island.

Father Herb glares at me for a brief moment before plastering a fake smile on his face and patting Levi on the back.

Lucy is right, buddy. And your dad is a smart man. Even when someone sounds like they know what they’re talking about, it’s always good to trust your gut.

Oh, like my feels, Levi says, letting go of the antenna.

My whole body tightens up. I’ve told him a hundred times not to talk about that. People wouldn’t understand. They’d either think he’s crazy, or worse. They’d think he’s a freak. Even Mom and Dad don’t believe him.

Father Herb doesn’t seem to realize that Levi is talking about reading people’s minds. He smiles and squeezes Levi’s shoulder. That’s right, kiddo. You’ve got a good head and a good heart. So you just listen to those feelings and you’ll always know the right thing to do.

Let’s go, Levi. Ms. Evelyn needs us to help restock the shelves. She doesn’t—not really—but he looks like he’s about to explain to Father Herb what his feels actually are.

Okay, he says. Bye, Mister Father.

Levi waves to Father Herb as I drag him through the door. Once it swings closed behind us, I yank him toward me.

What are you doing? You can’t talk about that.

Not even with Mister Father? He’s nice.

No, Levi. Nobody else would understand. Even if they’re nice.

Standing in the empty aisle, Levi looks around for Ms. Evelyn. A crate—half-full of cans—sits open on a dolly.

You lied, Levi says. She doesn’t need our help. She’s not even doing anything. You aren’t supposed to lie.

I shush him. Ms. Evelyn is standing behind the counter at the front of the store with the phone held to the side of her face.

She twirls the cord around her fingers as she listens to whoever is on the other end, but she doesn’t say anything. Her lips are pressed together so tight that it looks like she doesn’t have any. And she has that deep valley between her eyebrows that I usually only see when Levi or I have gotten into the snacks instead of putting them on the shelves.

Turning to Levi, I hold a finger in front of my mouth and wave for him to follow me. Whatever Ms. Evelyn is talking about on the phone, she won’t tell us the whole story. She never does. The only way to find out is to hear it for ourselves.

It’s usually just a vendor calling about the next delivery, or someone on the island complaining that the store ran out of their favorite beer. But I don’t think that’s it. It feels bigger than that. Maybe it’s my imagination, mixed with the gloomy weather. Or maybe I have more in common with Levi than I thought.

I creep down the aisle toward the back of the store and then move three aisles over. It will put us closer to the counter when we reach the front. A spinning rack of magazines blocks the view, but that’s all right. I don’t need to see Ms. Evelyn. Just hear.

We are still too far away to hear anything from the handset, but I can make out her hushed responses now.

That’s awful.

Uh-huh . . . uh-huh.

Isn’t there anything that might help?

Take as long as you need.

I’m focused on trying to slide an old issue of National Geographic over far enough to sneak a peek, so I don’t hear Ms. Evelyn put the phone back in its cradle. Nor do I hear her cross to the magazine spinner. Only silence as I raise my face to the small gap I’ve created. And then . . . thwack. Ms. Evelyn flicks me between the eyes.

Eavesdropping is not very becoming, young lady. Usually, she smirks or winks after saying something like that. Not this time. There is no sign of mischief or teasing on her suddenly tired-looking face. Only worry.

Is everything all right? Who was on the phone?

Ms. Evelyn straightens up and takes a breath. Just your parents, dear. They missed the ferry, so it looks like you and your brother are stuck with me for another night. Her mouth stretches itself into an awkward grin that looks more painful than happy. I’d like the two of you to help me with some restocking while we think of something fun to do tonight. I need to wash up and then I’ll meet you over there.

Levi and I both nod and make our way back to the boxes in the other aisle. After the restroom door closes behind Ms. Evelyn, Levi tugs on my elbow.

I don’t think she likes us anymore, he says.

You’re crazy. Of course she does.

"Nuh-uh. The whole time she was on the phone, she kept thinking this is terrible. And she’s crying about it right now. If she still likes us, she wouldn’t think it’s terrible to watch us again."

I grab a can of SpaghettiOs and toss it at Levi.

You think too much.

As we start to stock the shelves in silence, I’m thinking, too. If Levi says that Ms. Evelyn thinks something is terrible—and is crying about it in the other room—he’s right. I know that. But he’s wrong about thinking that watching us is the terrible part. She’s practically raised us since the accident. I don’t need Levi’s feels to know that she loves us.

But something is terrible. I just have to figure out what.

2

Ms. Evelyn made her famous potato soup for dinner. Actually, she reheated the leftovers from last night since she wasn’t expecting to have us again. It’s not bad. I don’t think it’s famous to anyone except her, though.

None of us have said much of anything since she told us that our parents wouldn’t be coming home today. A few times, she’s looked at Levi or me like she wants to say something, but then she turns away like she suddenly remembered something more important on the other side of the room.

So, I jump when Ms. Evelyn slaps her palms on the table.

I know, she says, as if we were in the middle of a conversation. You should take your brother to the old lighthouse.

I’ve heard the kids at school talk about it. Hex House—that’s what everyone calls it. Tommy says it’s because a bunch of witches used to meet there. Really, it’s because the lighthouse has six sides instead of four. I’ve tried to tell him, but Tommy is one of those kids who always knows everything, even when he’s wrong. He sounds like an idiot most of the time.

A group of kids meet up at Hex House every Sunday, right before dark, to tell scary stories. Tommy says he got the idea from his dad, who got the idea from a book he read when he was our age.

How do you know about the lighthouse? I ask Ms. Evelyn. I always assumed it was just a kid thing.

Please, Lucy, she says, smirking. Give an old lady some credit.

It makes sense, now that I think about it. She is the only real estate agent on the island. As far as I know, the only house she’s ever sold was to Father Herb. She runs the store to pay the bills, but her passion is houses—especially the old ones—and Hex House has had a For Sale sign planted next to it for as long as I can remember.

I’m about to tell her that I don’t think it’s a good idea. All those kids are jerks. But right as my protest reaches the tip of my tongue, Levi chimes in.

Can we, Luce? Can we? Puh-lease.

How can I say no to that? My mouth closes silently. Ms. Evelyn dips her head, a half-nod in my direction.

Sure, buddy. We can go.

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The path to Hex House is almost too quiet—which is saying something on an island with only a couple hundred residents. Evergreen trees line the road, along with fences made from oversized Lincoln Logs. There used to be houses, too, but no one has lived on this end of the island in years. The only sign of life is the large slash pile that somehow always seems to be smoldering.

The closer we get to the lighthouse, the quieter the air gets. Birds stop chirping, no insects buzz behind our heads. Even the ocean falls silent. Until—

crack

—a branch breaks.

Look guys! The Weirdo Twins decided to do something normal for once. It’s Tommy and three other kids from his tag-along posse—Evan, Pete, and Ashley. I don’t know why he calls us that. Someone told me it’s supposed to be a reference to some old superhero cartoon, but I’ve never seen it. We don’t have a TV, just the radio in the den.

Levi tightens his grip on my hand. I