Susan
The more Shady tried, the more frustrated Alma got. She could feel it festering in her chest and she *Did not like it*. He was the only person who could rile her up like this! And what made it worse was the fact that he was bein' nice! 

"Listen, Shady," She said as she tried to smooth back her hair in a desperate attempt to gain some semblance of control. It was barely holding together by a prayer at this point, all wild and frizzy and stuck to her forehead from their earlier labor. "Your offerin' to help is-" *Not what I expect from you, therefore I don't trust it.* "-awful kind. I'm sure Mama would be so happy to take you up on it, too. But I just *Can't* Come with you." She floundered for a moment, trying to think up a good excuse. Her lips even opened as if she might confess something, but instead she lamely repeated, "I just *Can't." 

Alma did *Not* Like the way he looked at her from his driver's side door. Or maybe she did. She didn't know. And that was worrisome. She looked away, keeping her eyes glued to the familiar green treeline instead. Moths were beginning to gather in his headlights, casting dancing shadows across her skirts and the remaining shards of forgotten glass. 

"We was never friends, Shady, and you know it!" She snapped, arms crossing defensively across her chest. But now they were adults. Now he wasn't throwing crab apples. Now he was helping her family out when they needed it the most, and she had a hard time figuring out what box to compartmentalize this new side of him into. She thought she'd seen the last of him. Instead, he'd grown up. 

"Chrissake, Shady it ain't like that. Don't be ridiculous." She kept her eyes glued to the trees, unable to face him as a confession came tumbling out. "I ain't never left this holler. I always wanted to. I still want to. I just... It ain't ever been the right time. Papa came back from the war, so I couldn't leave then. N' then my folks needed me to help out with the shine. N' *Then* My Papa bec

Ame mayor and I-" Alma stopped herself as she realized she was rambling. "...I can't go. Not when I'm needed."
Avis
Part of him wanted to needle her more than that. *What? We were never friends?* Make a show of being deeply wounded by that. See if her hair would get even wilder, her jaw tighter. Back then, it would have been funny. Something he could tell his brothers, scrubbing water through his hair and speaking in a shrill voice for the theatre of it all.

...But to his mounting horror, there was a part of him that wanted to concede to the rejection and try and make Alma's life a little easier. He had something Ma Rooster was missing — her and Pa, and most of the brood he belonged to. It was just a feeble little ounce of empathy — a strange thing to grow up with in that house.

It was just him and Keziah. Sometimes he thought they were human kids raised by wolves — or something meaner than wolves. But they were fucked up, too; they didn't talk about it. Just saw it sometimes in one another, and made sure to point it out when they did. They hurt each other every chance they got, because they didn't want those wolves to cotton on.

If she were here right now, she would have seen it plain as day. He could practically feel her bony elbow digging into his side, and hear the names she'd call him. But hell, Keziah, there was no sport in tormenting the girl when she was confessing something he had felt so deep in his bones he would rather his momma shot him like she did Ophia's beau or drowned him like she had Arjun's baby raccoon than spend another minute in that cellar. Keziah had felt that, too.

"Alright, alright," Shady placated, raising a staying hand. "I know jest how you feel, an' yer a better child'n I ever was. But you kin jest about lose your mind, stayin' put. One'a these days t

Hey's gonna haveta be a chance..."

He trailed off, glancing sidelong at the dark beyond them. Shady could have sworn he heard something beyond the treeline — larger than a cat. Than a coyote. Could have been a bear, a deer; a few weeks ago, none of that would have made him break into a cold sweat the way he did. All of the sudden it felt like his ears needed to pop. 

While he listened, it sounded again. A gentle breeze sent dry leaves somersaulting across the dirt road. They stirred beyond the trees, in the deep shadow where nothing could be made out but silhouettes against dull moonlight. The hair on the back of his neck stood, and Shady could have sworn the wind was whispering his own name to him. Or maybe it was hers. They didn't sound anything alike, but he found his memory couldn't make sense of it.

"You hear that?" He asked, already sinking into the driver's seat with a wild look in his eyes.
Susan
When Shady finally seemed to be agreeing to let her stay, Alma started to calm down. The world didn't feel quite so *Dizzying* Anymore. And she didn't wanna smack his car door in his face so much anymore neither. 

Until she heard it too. 

Alma instinctively took a step back away from the treeline, which happened to be one step closer to his truck. She knew her memaw's tales by heart. The wind carried something that sounded an awful lot like their names, but she couldn't make sense of it neither. That could only mean... 

"Something's out there," She agreed. 

Just like her Mama, Alma knew these woods like the back of her hand. Which meant she also knew their legends. The sound of broken glass. The smell of fresh blood. The light pouring out of Lady. *Their bickering.* 

"You should go," She whispered, her face pale as she slowly started towards the shed. She'd be fine if she got inside. Just needed to take it nice and slow and-

Their names again. Clearer now. 

Much as Alma knew the legends, she found herself frozen stock still as something *Heavy* Crunched another twig beneath its foot.
Avis
He wished he could say the madness started with the fortune-teller. At least then he'd have something to go on; something to plead forgiveness about. As it stood, he couldn't say when it started.

But Shady knew as well as Alma there were things in these woods beyond his understanding; that there was truth in the old stories.

And they were in agreement; he thought he *Should* Go — but maybe the shed wouldn't be enough for the Cooper women, either. If it was anything like the cat he and Essie met, it might tear the whole place down to get to them. Oh, it could do even worse to Lady, but it'd have to catch her, first.

He didn't have to deliberate long. A twig snapped, and with it his resolve. Shady lunged over the crate Alma had set in the passenger side seat, reaching out of the truck and into the night to grip her by her skinny arm.

"Get in the truck," He said as if he wasn't manhandling her into doing just that. He wasn't gentle, but he (barely) made sure he wasn't going to crack her head on the frame of the truck in the process of trying to *Save her ass.* Then he was leaned across her, fumbling for the heavy door. Dragging it shut, he fell back into his own designated seat and personal bubble of space, white-knuckling the gear shift.

Lady's engine roared alive, then her tires spun and flung gravel. They seemed to fishtail at first, engulfed in diesel fumes. Then she lunged forward, hauling her enormous weight forward with a tremendous racket. The engine was deafening; the bottles clanged against one another in their grates. Moonshine sloshed and gravel pinged against Lady's undercarriage. They peeled onto the road, and she found purchase.

Gravity pinned Shady against the driver's seat — and poor Alma likely had a time with the crate occupying hers.

Worse, the driver said nothing; just chased the hood of the truck and the cone of its headlamps toward a sharp corner, which he took so hard the side tires nearly lifted off the road.
Sabra
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