Page 4 of Sweet Silver Bells

Sarah was the only person who had ever made Hunter feel like he was enough. Not for his job, or his potential, but just as he was. Their romance had kindled the summer he came home from college with a degree and a head full of questions.

He’d been nursing a beer alone at the corner of McAllister’s bar, wondering if teaching elementary school English was a noble calling or a slow descent into mediocrity.

“Hey, stranger.” A familiar voice, low but amused, had cut through the background buzz.

Hunter had looked up and nearly choked on his drink.

He’d known that smile.

“Sarah?" He’d blinked, stunned. "It’s been … what, four years?”

“Five,” she’d said, sliding onto the stool beside him like she belonged there. “You look like someone who’s about to make a questionable life decision.”

He’d given a sheepish laugh. “I might be. I just graduated last year. Now I’m stuck between a teaching job and a quarter-life crisis.”

“Well, if you’re going to spiral, at least have the courtesy to do it with better beer.” She’d signaled the bartender and given him a nod. “Put it on my tab.”

“Look at you, all successful and generous. What are you up to now?”

“I’m working over at Siesic as a food scientist. Which is just a fancy way of saying I make sure your granola bars don’t kill you.”

He’d grinned. “Heroic.”

“I try.” She’d studied him for a second, more thoughtfully. “I always thought you’d end up doing something that mattered. I’m not surprised.”

The compliment had landed deep.

“Call me if you decide you need a sugar momma,” she’d added with a wink. “I still owe you a drink anyway.”

He’d watched her walk away, stunned by how effortless it still was between them.

“She’s got you spun, honey,” the bartender had said, sliding the new drink toward him. “Want another, or just gonna sit there smiling like a fool?”

Hunter hadn’t answered. He’d just looked at the glass, then at the door she’d walked through. He would call her the next night. They’d talk for hours.

Ten years later, he would stand in the same ballroom where they’d had their first dance as husband and wife. Now, he stood beside Sadie and a roomful of students, not the woman who once lit his entire world.

“Are you going to be okay?” Sadie asked.

Hunter knew his face had dropped. He knew tears welled beneath his eyelashes. He knew his fists were clenched.

“I think a lot of women like a man who can cry,” Sadie said. “I’d use it.”

“Sadie, it would be completely appropriate for you to give me some space,” Hunter said.

“Sure thing, man,” she said, slapping him on the shoulder.

“How come you guys can talk during the tour, but we can’t?” asked a boy with combed-over chestnut hair that hung down to his chin like he had just been to Warped Tour.

“You might make a good lawyer someday, Brandon,” Sadie said. “But ultimately, the answer is because we said so.”

“And that’s it for the inside,” the tour guide announced, clapping his hands. “Now I think we will take lunch outside and rejoin for the garden tour in about forty-five minutes. Does that work well, teachers and parents?”

“It does,” Hunter responded.

“Make sure not to venture into the woods,” the guide warned. “That would be an issue for the insurance. All over my head.”

“What’s out there?” A gaggle of excited students immediately took the bait.

“Rumor has it they’re haunted. That if you venture deep enough into the woods, and you sing, you will wake something terrifying.” The guide bent his knees dramatically, holding out his hand like a claw, growing more animated.

“I’ve sung in those woods on a dare,” Hunter whispered to Sadie. “You know, as a kid.”

That was a lie.

Why would you lie about that?

“You’re such a rebel.” She rolled her eyes.

“No, but seriously, they are dense, and it’s too easy to get lost,” the tour guide continued. “If you go through the back door of the ballroom, it will lead you right back out to a large area of grass. Please bring your trash with you until you can find a dedicated dumpster.”

Hunter and Sadie helped push the students to the back and out through the door. The shining sun peeked out against graying clouds, and snow was going to fall by the end of the day. Small bursts of wind caressed his cheeks as he pulled his hood up and grabbed the gloves from his jacket pocket.

“I’m sorry if I was out of line,” Sadie said, stepping beside him. “I wouldn’t want anything to ruin the professional dynamic we have.”

Hunter laughed, which turned into a cough from the freezing air.

“Oh, Sadie, you’re the only thing keeping me at this school.”

Hunter gazed out at all the students standing on the grass, some nibbling on sad-looking almond butter and jelly sandwiches, but most just angrily staring around with their arms crossed.

That wasn't a lie. He was one bad day away from rotting in his house and never leaving it again. At least he still had a best friend, however crazy she might be, to remind him that he was human.

“I love this stage, don’t you?” Sadie asked. “Half of them are too cool to sit down, the other half too practical—‘that grass is wet.’ How have they not figured out a better place to stuff us for eating?”

“Mr. Gunnan?”

Hunter looked up. One of the boys from his class was angrily marching toward him, his earmuffs pressed tight against his puffed cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Killian?”

“Jake dared Levi to run into the forest, and Hudson and Wesley ran after him.”

Hunter looked up to the sky and let out a breath.

“This feels like your area of expertise.” Sadie laughed. “You know, that inner rebel you have.”

“Mr. Gunnan isn’t a rebel,” Killian interjected. “He’s a teacher.”

“Wow,” Sadie said, trying to suppress a laugh. “You are so right.”

“I’ll go. Which way?” Hunter sighed.

“Will they get a demerit? Don’t tell them I snitched!”

“I didn’t know your generation said the word snitch ,” Sadie said.

“My mom’s been making me watch her favorite movies from when she was a kid.”

“Rad.”

“Yeah, that’s in them too,” Killian said, sighing and turning toward the woods. He pointed in a direction that was still too vague, but Hunter reluctantly walked forward anyway.

“Anyone want to help?” he asked over his shoulder. “No one?”

No one answered, but he did manage to get a couple of dirty looks from a group of girls shivering in the cold.

Hunter stepped out of the overcast light and under the first thick cluster of trees, where the sky disappeared entirely. The smell of cedar and fresh dirt was overwhelming, like walking into a real-life candle store.

“Guys,” Hunter yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. It was silent except for the faint voices drifting in from the manor grounds. These boys were absolutely going to get a demerit.

He wandered deeper, stepping on crunching branches and sticks, through leaves that had fallen and crumpled, brown and withered.

“Levi,” Hunter called again. “Hudson.”

No one came. No one jumped out to scare him. No one yelled for help from afar.

Hunter checked his watch, deciding they must have returned already. Lunch period was almost over, and clearly, the only one lost in the Berkshires was himself.

He turned around.

Splash .

His boot sank into a shallow creek he didn’t remember crossing. The realization hit: he had no idea which direction led back to the manor.

He didn’t think he’d gone far, but he’d been searching for a solid ten minutes, according to the classic gold watch strapped to his wrist, a gift from Sarah, one he never took off even after it stopped working.

The battery was never replaced. The clock hand would never move again, just as Sarah would never live again.

The forest grew darker as he moved.

Not a good sign.

Hunter pulled out his phone and saw a single bar of service. He kissed the screen and opened the map app, watching as the navigation arrow slowly turned.

He’d be fine. He wasn’t as far in as he thought. And if those students weren’t lost, their parents would be forced to sit down for a very uncomfortable one-on-one right before holiday break.

Shadows shifted while branches swayed, and a cold, unforgiving wind slapped against Hunter’s face.

His entire body shivered.

Crack.

Hunter jumped. His heart rate doubled at the sound of a twig snapping.

“Hudson?” he shouted.

No answer. No footsteps. No voice.

Maybe it was a bird.

Or maybe you imagined it.

Still, as he followed the app’s arrow, he let out a hum.

His voice made no specific tune, just a low, steady vibration in his chest. The sound comforted him.

His shoulders relaxed a bit as he stepped forward, hearing the stream up ahead that he’d crossed before.

Recognizing landmarks was a relief. He was headed in the right direction.

His hum grew louder, eventually shifting into casual singing. It was the only thing keeping the creeping unease from crawling up his spine.

“Silent night, holy night.”

But then his body froze.

The song stopped.

He’d heard something again. This time, he knew he hadn’t made it up.

Something was there.