Kathryn Foxfield - Good Girls Die First

On nights when the winds blew wrong, distorted music seemed to drift inland from Allhallows Rock. Sunset cast the island in foggy shades of red and orange, and for a moment, it appeared as if it was still burning.

Then tar-dark waters swallowed the lights, and the people of Portgrave once again looked away. Any questions they had about the abandoned carnival and its mile-long pier vanished. Most of the time, Ava forgot the island was even there.

Nothing like blackmail to refresh the memory.

Up and down the shadowy beach, silence stretched on and on. In one direction, an expanse of shingle and seaweed paved the way toward the grubby neon lights of Portgrave seafront. In the other, a concrete seawall followed the curve of the shore, making the dilapidated huts and boarded-up shops look like a prison complex.

Ava saw no potential blackmailers, or anyone else, for that matter.

Eight oclock, Portgrave Pier. Can you keep a secret?

That was what her invite said. Earlier that week, a pristine white envelope had dropped onto her doormat. Inside, a photo Ava thought no one but her had ever seen. Someone had used an old typewriter to print that days date and the cryptic instructions on the back. Nothing else. It had to be blackmail. Why else would someone have sent Ava evidence that they knew her biggest secret?

She turned her attention to the pier. Beyond the padlocked gates, it stretched out to sea like a matchstick bridge left out in the rain. Rotting wooden boards hid a perilous drop into foaming water. Forty-year-old scaffolding dangled at awkward angles. For anyone unconvinced, a hand-painted sign read DEATH LIES THIS WAY.

Once, the island had been a pleasure pier. Carnival attractions. Fairground rides. An arcade and a nightclub. The Magnificent Baldo had been its king until his kingdom was destroyed in an unexplained blaze. The fire department and the coast guard had dutifully put out the flames. Someone had erected emergency scaffolding to save the pier. Then everyone had returned to the mainland and locked the gates.

That was as much of the story as Ava knew. The adults in town didnt talk about Portgrave Pier. They didnt talk about Baldo. It was almost like theyd forgotten. Ava had asked her grandma a few times, but she had replied with warnings to stay away, then couldnt explain further when pressed. The strange aura of forgetfulness surrounding the pier meant Ava had stayed away until blackmail had brought her to the piers gates.

Out of habit, Ava raised her DSLR and framed a shot. There was a strange beauty in the rusty turnstiles and collapsed doughnut booths. But Ava wanted her photos to be more than dramatic natural light and washed-out colors. She wanted them to say something. She wanted to capture the ghosts of capitalism and disinvestment that still lingered on the pier four decades after the people had vanished. At least, thats what she wrote in her Instagram captions.

She held the camera at arms length and half-heartedly snapped a selfie. She immediately viewed the photo. Dusk gave her face a pixelated appearance. Dark waves cut blunt below her jawline. Olive skin made flawless by the low light. Lips slightly parted and unsmiling. Ava never smiled in pictures; smiling made her look sixteen.

That camera will steal your soul, a voice called.

Avas stomach tightened. She didnt need to turn around to know it was her best friend, Jolie, approaching over the breakers. Ava and Jolie were rarely apart, like fries and ketchup or those creepy twins from The Shining .

One time, Jolie had broken her arm falling off the seawall, and Avas own arm had ached for weeks. Another time, a dye-based disaster had left Avas hair a garish shade of orange, so Jolie had colored hers to match. Everyone had called Jolie Bozo for weeks, and Avas own mistake had been obscured by Jolies larger-than-life, ginger-hued shadow.

Sure, there were times when Ava found Jolies friendship claustrophobic and stifling. But most of the time, there was no one shed rather have in her corner. Only this was different. The blackmail was something Ava needed to fix by herself, without Jolies interference or judgment. Jolie wasnt meant to know she was here right now.

Ava switched the camera off. When she finally looked up, her friend had circled her to lean against graffitied boards, glaring out from beneath the hood of a giant panda onesie. Frizzy blond curls, ends still dyed orange, escaped in every direction.

Fancy seeing you here. I thought you had a hot date with Photoshop tonight, Jolie said.

A definite tone , but Ava let it go. You cant talk. You told me you were revising. You were going to switch off your phone.

Jolie narrowed her eyes, clearly unsure whether it was worth staying mad at Ava when shed also lied. So what are you doing here?

Urban decay is my thing, Ava said, nodding to the pier.

Im sure all fourteen of your followers will be delighted.

Nineteen thousand, but whos counting? She paused. Did you follow me here?

Jolie continued to glare. Um, no? I got an invite in the mail. She pulled a face, wrinkling her freckled nose. Who even sends things through the mail anymore?

Old people and blackmailers. Emphasis on the blackmailers. So Jolie was here because she had a secret of her own.

What did it say? Ava asked.

Jolie eyed her suspiciously. Eventually, she pulled a piece of crumpled-up paper from inside the onesie and practically threw it at Ava. Take a look if you want.

Ava smoothed out the creases. It was a mock-up of a nineteenth-century circus poster. A bearded lady sat primly in a high-backed chair with a tiny woman standing on her knee. At their side was a boy who looked more wolf than person and a man with elephantiasis. WELCOME TO THE FREAK SHOW, read the banner above their heads.

Ava flipped it over. On the back were typed instructions identical to those on her own summons.

Eight oclock, Portgrave Pier. Can you keep a secret?

In Avas opinion, there were two kinds of secrets in the world: secrets that lost their power when you told them, and secrets that changed everything. The second kind of secret turned a person inside out and showed who they really were. Ava knew what kind of secret her own was, but what about Jolies?