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The year is ’72, the afternoon is brisk, the seasons’ leaves sashay down the burnt-orange

treetops at a trepid pace. A sleepy Massachusetts town is generously decorated with tourists,

pointy witch hats, and all else funky within the Halloween realm. About ten minutes outside of

Salem, the Witch trials draw in large clusters of tourists this time of year. Crowds merge at

historic sites, cider is sold by the jug, and “haunted” tours are frequently guided by high

schoolers trying to scrounge an extra buck.

Seventeen-year-old Holly Harrington lived a plush life, and she would acknowledge that.

Coming from wealth, she did not need the job at WitchTours, the hub of superstition and

everything tacky. Many of the townspeople who knew her family were surprised to see her

leading the lines in uniform. Her girlfriends convinced her it would be fun to do just for their

senior year before they are off to college and never see each other ever again for the entirety of

their lives. Clearly, college is the place all the big kids go to disappear and never return. Holly

Harrington was truly something special. Silky chestnut hair gliding down to her hips,

exaggeratingly beautiful features, and always put together. She never left the house without her

signature lipstick, strong perfume, and little crotchet purse. She got every ounce of attention she

could want from just about everyone she encountered. The one person who she could never seem

to entrance, however, was her father. She loathed this man, preyed upon his downfall. He up and

left her and her mother for a younger woman he had met at a festival in Nova Scotia back when

Holly was ten. It was traumatic, to say the least, and some might say the root of a lot of her

behavior to follow.

Holly’s mother, Heather Hohnes, remarried when Holly was fourteen. Henry Hohnes was

a big-wig political figure in Massachusetts. Arguably, he became one of the wealthiest men their

small town had seen in a while. Fifteen years Mrs. Hohnes’ senior, Mr. Hohnes has been the
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longest standing mayor the state of Massachusetts had ever had. Living on top of a swanky hill,

their quarters could run circles around the surrounding homes. A funky midcentury modern, the

dirty money that Henry Hohnes managed to reel in election after election allocates for this plush

lifestyle. With a four-car-garage, a housekeeper, and a private-chef, the commonfolk outside the

Hohnes’ bubble could not help but scratch their heads. Where did all this money possibly come

from? Holly could not stand her stepfather for this reason. Clearly, the age gap between him and

her mother was extremely strange, but her hatred for him was far deeper than that. She loved his

wallet, of course, but despised the limitations it set upon her. He found some sort of high in the

belief that he had some form of authority over her due to the absence of her biological father.

Money was the beauty following the storm of his brutality. Sure, the alcohol drove his behavior,

but it takes a particular person to justify what he had done.

School is where Holly felt the most special. She did not particularly love all her classes,

but she adored reading. The days of sequestering herself in the dark school library were plenty,

finding peace within the escapism of a quality mystery book. The school counselor encouraged

this love for reading by filling her schedule with as many English electives that would be

possible. This year being her senior year, there had been only one English class that Holly had

not already taken. This would be the only class in her schedule that was centered around what

she truly loved. This upset her, until the first day of class. Her teacher, Scott Schmidt, seemed to

find her particularly interesting out of the rest of the students. He was the boys’ varsity soccer

coach, loved seventies music, and had a fascination with true crime. Holly was amazed at how

much that they had in common after class introductions. Standing around six-foot-three, the

scruff on his face perfectly outlined his round jaw and his deep brown eyes were almost animal-

like. He was charismatic and had a way of making you feel like it was just the two of you in a
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room full of people. He would lecture in front of the class, and only look into her eyes for the

entire hour. He would ask her to stay after class to talk and seemed to laugh a little harder at

what she had to say. Holly felt special, but she could not seem to describe the way he made her

feel. Although these feelings were unknown. she knew she liked the fact that he seemed to like

her more than the others. It scratched a trauma in her seventeen-year-old brain where any father

figure seemed to see her as less than. Not Mr. Schmidt, though. He thought she was smart,

funny, and liked that she loved to read. How cool is it to be understood? They talked about their

favorite mystery books, music they both liked, and Holly’s hopes and dreams for the future

beyond high school. She looked forward to each class, always prepared a little extra on his

assignments, eager to participate in all class exercises. He noticed her excitement in his class,

which only fueled his adoration. What felt weird about this adoration, besides the obvious, was

how instant it was. Almost as though he had known her for years. Why did he stare at only her

on the first day of class? What does he find so interesting about only her life? Who truly is Scott

Schmidt?