Page 23 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

Eighteen

So I have Ben Vandergriff camping in my yard. Maybe I should have the guts to refuse, but I don’t have the strength. Also, if I insist, Josie will stay. I don’t have any cause to reject Ben. Even the sheriff—who obviously dislikes him—has no issue with him staying.

Whatever Austin did to me, I’ve never gotten a hint of those vibes from his brother.

Ben’s just here making sure I don’t cheat and, honestly, if I think it through, that’s probably for the best. Ms. Jimenez is correct that I don’t want the will challenged.

If anything goes wrong, I’d rather have Ben on board as a hostile witness to grudgingly admit that I didn’t fake a threat.

It’s just past ten when I walk back outside. Ben’s in his tent. I head for the beach and barely make it five steps past his tent before he’s calling, “Where do you think you’re going?”

I look back to see him standing there. “I won’t get close to the water. I’m just … looking.”

“Come back. Now.”

I turn, crossing my arms against a chill breeze. “I’m not five, Ben. I won’t get close enough to get pulled in by an undertow.”

“There’s no fucking—” He bites it off. “Come back.”

I peer at him through the darkness. “What do you think happened?”

“I have no damned idea, but you shouldn’t be here.”

I turn toward the beach and keep walking.

He’s in my path so fast I jump. He backs up, keeping a respectful distance. “What are you doing, Sam?”

“Trying to figure out what happened.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I will only go—”

“I mean you shouldn’t be here. On this property. Not when something has obviously happened to your aunt, and it isn’t a damn undertow. Whatever bullshit game your grandfather is playing, it should not require you staying under those circumstances.”

Does he mean I should be able to leave and get my inheritance?

That was what he suggested earlier, though I figured I’d misunderstood.

Now, though, I realize it’s not that improbable.

As long as I’m here, his life is on hold “caretaking” both the property and me.

As long as I’m here, he needs to put up with the sheriff’s shit.

As long as I’m here, he has to face me and all the reminders of his brother’s death.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know this is difficult for you, and it’s not fair.”

“I’m not—” He throws up his hands in frustration. “Whatever. You know what? Let’s fix this, Sam. Offer me a payout again.”

“What?”

“Offer me a cut of whatever you make off this place.”

“I … don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand? Offer me money, Sam.”

I glare at him. “If you’re trying to make a point by turning me down—” I stop as a chill runs through me. Our voices are rising, and I swear I feel the wind pick up. Just like last night, when I argued with Gail.

I’m being silly. I know I am. But my gut whispers that I shouldn’t argue with Ben. Not here.

“Fine,” I say. “If I get the proceeds of this place, you get … I don’t know. A million dollars?”

“Too high.”

“Too—?” Do not argue. “How much then?”

“A hundred grand.”

“Okay, if I get through this and inherit the property, I promise you, Benjamin Vandergriff, one hundred thousand dollars for your help.”

“I accept.”

I blink. “You…?”

His gaze fixes on me. “You didn’t really mean it?”

“Sure, I did. But … Okay. Yes. Good. It’s settled.”

“It is, and now you don’t need to suspect that I’m trying to sabotage you. You don’t need to question why I’d help you get that money. It’s a payday for me, and I could really use one.”

“Uh … okay.”

“If you insist on walking the beach tonight, I’m going with you. But I would rather be in my tent, reading, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Reading what?” I ask.

“Porn.”

“Liar.”

His brows rise.

“No one reads porn anymore,” I say. “It’s all online.”

“I’m old-fashioned that way.” He makes shooing motions toward the cottage.

“Fine. I’ll go back in.”

“And stay in.”

“Yes, yes,” I say, already walking away.

“Good night, Samantha.”

“Good night, Benjamin.”

I wake to the sound of hoofbeats, and I want to scream.

I do not for one second forget what’s happened with Gail, and that sound mocks me, a cruel throwback to my childhood here, when the only thing I had to worry about was a phantom horseman without a head, and even then, it’d been more thrilling than chilling.

I punch my pillow and slam my head back down onto it.

I’m lying there, on my back, glaring at the wood-paneled ceiling, when the pounding of hooves comes again.

I sit up and blink hard, feeling something familiar in my eyes. Yep, apparently, I forgot to remove my contacts.

I jump out of bed and stalk into the living room.

I’m not putting up with this shit. I don’t care what everyone else thinks, I know I saw someone in the shed, and I know someone left those mutilated animals on my step.

A very human someone who is now playing a prank by making the sound of horse hooves.

A witness sleeps thirty feet from my front door, and I’m damn well going to make sure he witnesses this. Ben can confirm the sound of hoofbeats, proving someone is taunting me with old stories from my childhood, mistakenly believing the sound will frighten me.

It’s my cousin, Caleb. I declare that with the certainty that can only come at two in the morning and will probably evaporate with the rising sun.

But in this moment, I am furious with myself for not pursuing this lead.

Sheriff Smits raised the possibility, and I should have mentioned it to Gail, because it makes the most sense.

Caleb could have been the person in the shed. He’s the right size. He could have had someone “lock” him in there so he magically appeared. Caleb might have known about the small animals Austin left for me. He certainly knew about me “hearing” the headless horseman—he’d mocked me mercilessly.

This is all Caleb’s doing, trying to frighten me away from claiming my inheritance, and I am glad of it. Fucking delighted, in fact, because that means Gail is fine.

Caleb would never kill our aunt. Not even if it meant he’d inherit this entire property, and right now, he isn’t entitled to any of it if I lose. No, this is about making sure I don’t get the money, and to that end, I would not put it past him to kidnap Gail.

He sees her go out to look at those bioluminescent lake lights, and he pounces on an opportunity.

Take her captive, making sure she doesn’t see him, erasing his own footprints from their scuffle and then holding her somewhere just long enough for me to flee the property.

Surely, I’ll be gone by nightfall. Except I’m not, and he can’t keep her forever.

So now, in desperation, he’s staging the damned headless horseman.

I march to the front window just in time to see something big disappear into the trees.

I’m striding to the door when I spot Josie’s massive flashlight, which makes me remember Gail’s gun.

The thought of grabbing the gun flits through my mind, but I’m angry and stalking out into the dark.

The last thing I want is to—in my sleep-addled rage—point the gun at Caleb and risk it firing. The flashlight will do.

Outside, I stride straight to the tent and plant myself at the door.

“Ben?”

I need to say it again before a muffled “Mmph?” sounds from within.

“I need you out here.”

A sleep-stuffed “Wha…?”

“Something is out here. I need you.”

I don’t wait for him to dress. I can still hear the clomp of those fake hoofbeats. So I say, “Catch up,” and take off at a jog.

When I reach the beach, my rage spikes even higher as I see the hoofprints in the sand. They’re right along the water’s edge, the surf lapping at them, filling them.

I take a deep breath and force satisfaction to temper my anger. Caleb didn’t get away with this. I’m onto him, and he will pay. That one-third of my grandfather’s house he gets? It’s going to Gail after what he put her through with this fucking stunt.

I’m following the hoofprints when I realize I need evidence. Luckily, I brought my phone. I take it out and snap shots of the prints before the surf erases them. Then a sound comes from somewhere up ahead. I go still, gripping the massive flashlight.

My cousin is there, maybe fifty feet away, moving along the edge of the water. It’s a moonless night, and all I can make out is a figure heading in the other direction. In the silence, the distant splish-splash reaches me as he walks in the surf.

I grip the flashlight. Do I shine the beam on him? Or should I sneak along and find out where he’s going?

I squint at the figure. It’s Caleb. It must be. But something about it …

No, it has to be Caleb.

But it’s so tall. I can see the boulders and trees along the shore, and the figure seems at least seven feet tall, maybe eight. It’s also not human shaped. More … animal, with what looks like …

Four legs.

I see four long and slender legs moving through the surf.

I blink hard and look behind me. There’s no sign of Ben.

Because I didn’t actually wake him up. I didn’t actually wake him up because I’m not here. I’m in the cottage, dreaming. Or I’m here, sleepwalking.

Seeing a horse walking along the water’s edge. A horse with a rider.

I take a slow step back.

No, if it’s not real, I don’t need to run. I can get a better look.

The creature is at least fifty feet away now, tramping along the water’s edge.

I take a deep breath, turn on the flashlight, and lift the powerful beam to land squarely on—

I swallow.

It’s a horse and rider but …

The horse is green, covered in lake weeds. Huge chunks of flesh have rotted away to the bone, and what remains is pitted, flaps of green skin and horse hair hanging in tatters, as if it’s decomposing. Like the monstrous Austin I dreamed the other night.

And there’s a rider. A rider with tattered clothing and rotted flesh and …

No head.

The rider has no head.

Of course he doesn’t, a voice screams in my head, giddy with maniacal laughter. Because he’s not real. He’s a figment of your imagination, mingling the headless horseman and the drowned dead.

Still, the flashlight beam wavers, my hands shaking, and the horse stops.

It turns to look at me, and I see white bone and huge dark eyes.

The rider turns too, and he lifts a rotting head by the hair and turns it to look back at me with glowing eyes.

Then, even from this distance, I swear those eyes blink.

I turn and run.

I don’t think. I can’t form coherent thought. I run, heart jammed into my throat, blood pounding so hard I am sure I will never hear the horse when it overtakes me and drags me into the lake.

I am going to die. Die, just like—

“Sam?” a garbled voice says, somewhere beside me.

I don’t know how I hear that. I don’t even know how I decipher the word as my name. But, still unable to process thought, I react on instinct and stop.

I stand there, heart cycloning in my chest, sucking up air and thought, until I can do nothing but shake, looking around wildly.

The horseman is gone.

He’s not chasing me. He’s disappeared—

No, there he is … walking into the water.

He’s still where I saw him, but he’s turned toward the lake, and the horse is walking into it, the rider holding his head aloft, eyes glowing, like a macabre lantern lighting his path, as the horse sinks deeper and deeper, until both disappear.

“Sam?”

That garbled voice again, the one that stopped me.

I spin, trying to find it.

There, in the water. Out directly across from me.

Something is walking out of the water.

Someone is walking out.

I back up slowly. I go to lift the flashlight, but instead, I lift my phone. My finger fumbles to hit the light, and I snap a picture instead, the flash illuminating—

Gail.

My aunt.

Walking out of the water.

“Oh God,” I say, and I run toward her. “Gail!”

She keeps coming, slowly, hunched as if dragged down by her drenched clothing. Her skin is so white it’s bluish gray. I keep running, trying to run, slogging through the cold lake water. She moves at the same pace, slow and relentless.

“Help,” she says, the word as garbled as my name, as if her lips are frozen from the water. I’m no more than ten feet from her when I stop dead, heart launching into my throat.

One of her eyes is missing.

It’s missing.

The other eye is filmed over. Her skin sags, and there’s a gash in her shoulder where I can see through to the bone.

“Sam,” she says again. “Help.”

She reaches for me, and finger bones poke through her skin, the tips gone, as if nibbled by fish and—

I turn and run for the beach. I splash through the water, hot tears running down my face, my vision blurred as I run for the shore. My foot hits the sand and I veer left, still running blindly.

“Sam? Sam!”

This is a new voice. Not Gail. Not my aunt. I don’t know who it is. I don’t know where it’s coming from. I just run, tear-blinded, until I bash into something. I flail, pushing and scratching as arms fold around me.

“Sam! It’s me. It’s Ben.”

Hands grab my shoulders. Warm hands, hot through my nightshirt. When I try to wrench away again, he scoops me up, holding me tight.