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In much better shape is a nearby root cellar built into the slope of the land. There’s no roof—just a slightly rounded mound of earth. A fieldstone wall forms the front. In the center is a wooden door, shut tight, its rusted slide bolt firmly in place.
“Creepy,” says Sasha.
“Cool,” says Miranda.
“Both,” says Krystal. “It looks like something fromLord of the Rings.”
But I’m thinking of another, more ominous tale. One about a flooded valley, a clan of survivors hiding in the woods, a thirst for revenge. Maybe a small seed of truth lies in the legend Casey told me. Because someone used to live in these hills. The foundation and root cellar make that abundantly clear. And although there’s no evidence showing it was the same people from Casey’s story, my skin nonetheless starts to tickle. Goose bumps, running up my arm.
“We should—”
Go. That’s what I intended to say. But I’m stopped by the sight of a large oak sitting fifty yards away. The tree is large, its thick branches spread wide. In its trunk is a familiar letter.
X
Immediately, I know it’s not the same tree Vivian led me to fifteen years ago. I would have remembered the crumbled foundation and creepy-cool root cellar. No, this is a different tree and a differentX. Yet I get the feeling both letters were carved by the same hand.
“Stay here,” I tell the girls. “I’ll be right back.”
“Can we look inside that hobbit house?” Miranda asks.
“No. Don’t go anywhere.”
They mill about the crumbled foundation while I dash to the tree and search around its trunk. I take a step, and the ground beneath me thumps. A muffled, hollow sound.
Something is down there.
I drop to my knees and start scraping away years’ worth of weeds and dead leaves until I reach soil. I swipe my hands back and forth, clearing the dirt. Something brown and moist appears.
Wood. A pine plank dyed brown from more than a decade underground. I sweep away more dirt before burrowing my fingers intothe soil underneath it, prying the plank loose. Its bottom is coated with mold, mud, a few bugs that scurry away. Beneath the plank someone has dug a hole the size of a shoe box. Inside the hole is a yellow grocery bag wrapped tightly around a rectangular object.
I unfurl the bag and reach into it, feeling more plastic. A freezer bag. The kind that can be zipped shut. Through the clear plastic, I see a splash of green, the stubble of leather, the edges of pages kept dry by the double layers of protection.
A book. Auspiciously fancy.
I peer inside the yellow grocery bag, checking for anything else that might be inside. There’s just a second freezer bag, empty and crumpled, and a single strand of hair. I set it on the ground and carefully open the other bag, letting the book slip out of it. It’s floppy in my hands, made pliant by fifteen seasons of being frozen and thawed and frozen again. Yet I’m able to peel back the cover to the first page, where I see the chaotic swirl of someone’s handwriting.
Vivian’s handwriting, to be exact.
“What are you doing over there?” Miranda calls.
I slam the book shut and shove it into my backpack, hoping my body shields the action from the girls’ view.
“Nothing,” I reply. “It’s not what I was looking for. Let’s head back.”
I place the now-empty bags back in the hole and cover it with the plank. I kick some dirt and leaves over the wood, more out of respect for Vivian than caution. I want to keep her secret safe. Because whatever’s inside this book, Vivian thought it important enough to hide it here, on the other side of the lake, as far away from prying eyes and Camp Nightingale as possible.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
“Two Truths and a Lie,” Vivian said as we rowed back to camp. “Your turn.”
I dipped my paddle into the lake, arms straining to push it through the resistant water. Vivian wasn’t only older than me; she was also stronger. Each stroke of her oar forced me to paddle even harder just to keep up. Which I couldn’t. As a result, our canoe curved through the water instead of cutting straight across it.
“Do we have to do this right now?” I asked through labored breaths.
“We don’thaveto,” Vivian said. “Just like I don’thaveto tell Allison and Natalie you were too chickenshit to play today, even though I probably will.”
I believed her, which is why I opted to play. I didn’t really care what Allison and Natalie thought of me. Vivian’s opinion was the only one that mattered. And the last thing I wanted was for her to think I was chickenshit about anything.