Page 36 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

Whenever people immigrate, they bring their own traditions and culture. In this area, many of the colonists were Dutch. They brought with them games like ninepins and ice hockey, foods like waffles and doughnuts. My ancestors also brought something else.

As I read, the old language smooths out, my eyes skimming over unfamiliar words and turns of phrase and modernizing them.

Before we left the old country, my husband’s mother taught us how to create nekkers, to ensure our prosperity in this new land.

The process cannot be rushed, particularly as it might take years to complete the first step.

The good fortune we brought with us eventually ran out, and all we could do was wait. Wait for tragedy to strike our family.

It finally happened last month, when we received word that my husband’s youngest brother, Bram, perished in the war for independence.

He died in the most horrible way, his head nearly cleaved from his body by a British soldier.

Given the state of his remains, the army wished to bury him, but we claimed membership in a religious community that required an appropriate burial, and they allowed my husband and his brothers to retrieve Bram’s remains.

By the time the body arrived, the poor boy’s head was no longer attached to his neck, and we fretted over how that would affect the ritual.

Yet there was no way to swiftly consult with the elders, and we dared not miss this opportunity.

We followed the ritual and killed Bram’s horse and then arranged them both in the lake bottom, the horse pinning Bram’s body and head beneath it.

Next we had to perform the binding. I have left instructions for it in these pages.

The person bound must be a Payne, sharing blood with Bram.

It is best if the person is young, so that the binding might last as long as possible, yet it is unwise to bind a baby who may not survive infancy.

As my husband is the first son, it was decided that our eldest—Elsie—would be bound.

We performed the ritual and then we waited.

It took thirty days, long enough that we began to worry that the condition of Bram’s body meant he could not serve as the seed.

Our distress grew so great that once, when my husband had drunk too much, he questioned whether Elsie was his child!

But then it happened, exactly as it should.

A light appeared under the water at night and Bram rode out on his horse, his head held in his hand.

He did not know us, of course, but he rode right up to our homes, searching for Elsie.

When we brought her out, he was satisfied and returned to the lake.

Each night until the lake freezes, Bram emerges to ride through the woods, seeking any source of danger to our family, but mostly to Elsie.

We are all tremendously careful not to discipline the child.

That is the one danger of the ritual. Bram will protect us all, but he will also protect Elsie from us.

Even a backhanded slap could result in retaliation.

My husband says his grandmother always told the story of her uncle, who had been bound to their nekkers.

A cousin, in his cups, struck her uncle a blow, and the next day, the cousin was gone.

A few days later, he appeared from the lake as a nekker, having been trampled to death by the horseman and dragged into the lake by the nekkers.

When the bound person passes, another may take their place. If there is no suitable replacement, the nekkers will remain dormant until a new bonding. However, if the nekkers lie dormant, the Paynes receive no benefit from them.

The nekkers offer more than protection. Much more. Some of the old stories say that the nekkers offer bargains, wishes granted in return for sacrifices. That is adjacent to the truth, which is that they offer a boon in return for sacrifice—the very specific boon of good fortune.

For as long as the nekkers are pleased, the Paynes will enjoy fortune. Their crops will grow. Their children will be healthy. Their fish nets will be full. It will never be so much that others notice and grow suspicious. It will simply seem as if fortune smiles on them more often than others.

To continue earning their blessings, there must be a Payne bound to the horseman and there must be sacrifices to keep the ranks of the nekkers full because, with the exception of the horseman, they will eventually rot under the waves.

A sacrifice every fifth year is enough. Look for those who travel—trappers and hunters and fishermen and laborers passing through.

Take their lives with the ritual detailed in this book and then leave them by the water’s edge for the nekkers to claim.

Do this every fifth year, and your fortune will remain strong.

This fortune will also extend to anyone who aids you in this, such as a trusted servant.

It is advisable to cultivate such a person, who can do the deed in return for the reward, and who could also be given to the authorities if the need arises.

The book continues from there, but I have to take a break, rubbing my eyes and struggling to process what I’ve read.

Finally, I look over at Ben, who’s been helping me through.

“You wanted me to read this for myself,” I say. “So there’s no question that you’re misinterpreting.”

“Yeah.”

“How the hell would you misinterpret, Ben? This isn’t in code. It’s not even vague. It clearly spells out a ritual that explains the horseman and the drowned dead and the missing people.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was making it up. Better if you read it for yourself.”

I push back my chair. “So you found this book back when you were trying to fix the wall.”

“Yeah.”

“And?” I tap the book. “You read it and shoved it back into that compartment? Forgot about it?”

“Nah. I decided to tell Sheriff Smits that the Paynes murdered my brother as part of a ritual where they’re creating lake zombies to bless them with good fortune. Because that’s a thing that happens in the real world.”

He shakes his head. “What would you have thought, Sam? If you read this after hearing hoofbeats and seeing lights under the water? Would you have jumped on this as the explanation?”

I lean back. “Fine. You’re right. I would have thought I’d overheard a family story that was making me hallucinate hoofbeats and lights. Or, at most, my ancestors were delusional murderers, killing strangers because they believed it brought them luck.”

We go quiet again. On the surface, this seems to answer all our questions. But even if it does—and I’m not completely sure of that—it doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t bring my aunt back. It only means …

I’m not even sure of what it means. I do know one thing, though.

“I want to tell Josie,” I say.

Ben doesn’t answer. Just taps his fingers on the table.

“You disagree?” I say.

“No, I’m just…” He stretches his legs under the table. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t trust her—”

“It isn’t that. It’s that I’m not sure what she can do with this. Not sure what any of us can do with it.”

“That’s why I want to tell her. Get an outside view. Someone who didn’t see what we did and can look at this”—I tap the book—“from that perspective.”

He nods slowly.