Page 35 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

Twenty-Eight

I need to talk to Ben. There are things I still haven’t told Josie, starting with the headless horseman and ending with the book Ben found. He might say it’s my call, but I’m at the point where I need a second opinion, whether he wants to give it or not.

Finding him is easy enough. He’s out by the lake, staring into the water.

“I’m fine,” he says without turning as I approach.

“Because it’s daylight?”

He grunts and keeps staring out. Then he shakes it off and turns. “Because I’ll see them coming.”

“You’re thinking about Austin.”

His gaze darts back to the water, telling me he doesn’t want to discuss it. Neither do I. It’s too fraught a subject on too many levels. I only asked because I want to acknowledge his pain and confusion, in case he needs to talk.

I tell him what I’ve shared with Josie. Then I tell him about the missing people.

“Huh,” he says when I finish.

“‘Huh’? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yep.”

When I glare, he says, “What else do you want me to say, Sam? That all these missing people were dragged into the lake? To prove it, we’d need to dig up photos of each person and compare them to the creatures we saw.”

“We could do that.”

“And then what? Tell Sheriff Smits? Does knowing who they are help us stop them? Or put them to rest? Or whatever the hell they need? Does naming them even mean that’s who we’re seeing? We’ve already speculated that they might take on the appearance of someone who died.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. “Okay.”

He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, Sam. You and Josie came up with a theory that’s interesting in a theoretical way. But practically, it doesn’t help us.”

“So what does?” I shake my head. “Never mind. That’s not why I’m here anyway. I didn’t tell Josie about the horseman. Should I do that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“And the book?”

He hesitates. Then he shakes his head. “You need to read it first.”

“To make that determination?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you just tell me what it says?”

He exhales a slow breath and runs his hand through his hair again.

“You want me to figure it out for myself,” I say.

“I’ll guide you through it.” He looks out at the water. “Before sundown.”

Silence falls, and we both stand there, staring at the water before I whisper, “What are we doing, Ben?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

More silent staring as my thoughts and stomach roil. Finally, I say, my voice low, “I should leave, shouldn’t I? After what we saw, I should give up. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s getting worse every night, and I’m not going to last a month.”

“Physically?” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I think you’ll be okay.”

My stomach tightens. While the horseman hadn’t paid any attention to me, I keep thinking of Austin coming out of the water, the hate in his eyes.

Ben continues, “But even if you’re not a target, you survive at what cost? First your aunt and then last night, while someone’s trying to make you think you’re responsible for everything…”

“So I should give up. Leave.”

He turns to me. “What’s stopping you? I don’t think it’s the money. You need it badly. I get that. Not millions, but you can’t opt for less and leave early. That’s why you came, but is it why you’re staying?”

I wrap my arms around my chest and look out at the sun-dappled waves before saying, “No.”

“Is it to beat your grandfather? Win his game?”

“I came for the money. When things started going wrong, I didn’t want to be scared off by a couple of dead animals.

Then Gail…” My voice catches, and it’s a hoarse whisper when I say, “I wanted her to leave. I insisted she leave. But even then, I didn’t really think she was in danger.

I should have pushed harder.” My arms tighten.

“No, I should have left myself. She’d have come with me. ”

“When something like that happens, we always think back on the things we wished we’d done differently.

But we only feel guilty because things went wrong.

Otherwise, we’d never have thought twice about it.

Like not keeping an eye on my little brother when my parents told me he was grounded.

How many times had I done that and nothing happened? I never once felt guilty.”

He hunches his shoulders in. “Not to interject myself in this. I’m just saying I get it.

As the person who screwed up, no amount of justification is going to make me feel better, so I know that saying this isn’t your fault won’t help as much as it should, but…

” He meets my gaze. “It’s not your fault. ”

When I don’t answer, he says, “If Gail had a near miss and you begged her to stay anyway, yeah, you’d have a reason to feel guilty. Not with this.”

“But now that Gail and that camper have been killed, and I’m still not leaving? Letting you and Josie stay here?”

“Josie will be gone by nightfall. I’m staying even if you leave.”

“Why?”

“That was my question to you. Why are you staying, Sam? Not for the money. Not even to prove something to your dead grandfather. So why?”

Long silence, as we both look out over the water.

“Because I have to know,” I murmur finally.

“I feel as if this is connected to me. If my leaving would stop anyone else from dying, I’d go.

But I need to know what’s happening and maybe, once I do, I’ll make an informed decision to leave.

Otherwise, in a year or two, when my mother’s in some crappy home and I’m in an even crappier apartment, working sixty hours a week at a crappy job, I’ll be convinced I made a mistake.

That I let my cousin or uncle scare me off.

My aunt suffered some horrible tragedy, maybe connected to the staging, and I dishonored her memory by quitting before I knew what happened. ”

“Yes.”

That’s all he says, and then we stand there, looking out, until I say, “Will you leave if you’re in danger?”

“If you come with me.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He looks over. “You mean that?”

“I don’t have a death wish, Ben. If I think you’re in danger, I’ll go if it means you’ll go.

But will you do me one favor? Stop wandering off.

Yes, it’s daytime and you’re entitled to your privacy, but what if we’re wrong about everything?

What if something happens to you because I didn’t have the guts to ask you to stay close? ”

“I didn’t ‘wander off ’ today, Sam. I went looking for that guy’s camping stuff.

Then I realized I probably shouldn’t be out there alone, so I came back.

But I take your point. No one should be here alone.

” He looks back at the cabin. “Even Josie shouldn’t be in the cottage alone.

But that loops us back to the book question. ”

“It does.”

“I’m going to tell her to leave.”

He strides off, and I hurry along after him.

“You can’t do that,” I say.

“Why? Because it’s rude? That’s why I’m the one doing it.”

Before I can catch up, he’s at the cottage door, swinging it open and stepping inside.

“Sam and I need to do a few things,” he says. “It’s best if you aren’t part of that. But it’s also best if no one is alone here. So you need to leave for a while. Come back with lunch. Also smokes. I really need a cigarette.”

Her brows shoot up. “Uh…”

“Your dad is the sheriff. Your boss is the sheriff. It makes things complicated. If it’s something Sam and I can share, we will.”

“So lunch and cigarettes?”

“Yeah.”

She puts out her hand. He sighs, but slaps a twenty in it.

“Big spender,” she says. “For that you get cigarettes and you can reheat your breakfast.”

I take a couple twenties from the leftover cash in the envelope, but she shakes her head.

“This one’s on me,” she says with a smile and then leaves.

Josie is gone. Ben and I are in the kitchen, with the book on the table, me on one chair while he straddles another backward. I’ve plugged in a lamp so I can see the pages better, and I have my phone to look up words I don’t recognize.

I start at the beginning. The first entry is actually a preface, explaining that this is a translation from the original Dutch.

As a surname, Payne is often associated with the British Isles, but my Payne ancestors originated in France and ended up in the Netherlands, and that’s where they were when they immigrated with a wave of Dutch settlers coming to New York State.

At the time the journal was translated, the Paynes had been in America for several generations and they spoke English. The writer translated it because it was—as she said—a work of vital importance that could not be lost.

For the first dozen or so pages, the book seems like a standard journal, mostly interesting for the family history.

I already knew a bit of that. The Paynes came to America in the mid-eighteenth century.

That’s long after the Mayflower, but it’s right at the start of when Europeans began colonizing upstate New York.

When I was little, my grandfather always made it sound like the typical pilgrim narrative.

My ancestors came over and found vacant land and worked hard to turn it into what is now Paynes Hollow.

At that age, while I certainly knew there’d been people in America before the Europeans, the reality never fully penetrated, because the indigenous people played no role in my grandfather’s stories.

It was as if this particular region were just empty land.

Now, reading those early pages, my skin crawls with the reality.

My many-times-great-grandmother gushes about the lake and the land and the bounty, and marvels at their luck “finding” this piece and “claiming” it for their own, and when she does mention the native people, it’s as if they’re in the same category as the wolves and the bears.

Invaders on the land my family “owns” by right of their land claims.

That’s a horror story in itself, but it’s not the purpose of the journal, and what seems like a typical pioneer story quickly turns into something else.