Page 54 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

The wrong decision?

While I do not want Ben Vandergriff living outside my door, if he had been there last night, would he have seen Gail? Heard her if she got into trouble? She might not even have ventured out knowing he was there.

“You think whoever I saw attacked my aunt,” I say. “Hurt her.”

“Nah. I’m sure she’s fine. Just fell and twisted her ankle. Or maybe sat down and drifted off.”

A chill runs down my neck, those words echoing something deep in my brain, memories I’d presumed long forgotten.

It’s the day Austin Vandergriff disappeared. Mom and I are joining the search party in the woods behind the Vandergriff house. Ben’s there, an acne-pocked teen standing by himself, staring down at his sneakers as Sheriff Smits explains the search procedure. First, though, Smits reassures us that Austin was probably fine.

“Maybe he fell and twisted his ankle. Or sat down and drifted off.”

Does Ben know he’s parroting those old words? He could be mocking me. My aunt disappears just like his brother, so he says the same thing, while clearly meaning my aunt has met a similar fate—murdered and buried in a shallow grave.

But there’s no sign of mockery in his voice or expression. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s repeating Smits, the words bubbling up from his own subconscious.

Fell and twisted her ankle.

Sat down and drifted off.

Another memory bobs below the surface, one too deep for me to pull up. I’m maybe five or six, my hand stretching up to hold my father’s, and we’re…

I struggle to draw out the memory. We’re in town. Dad’s talking to someone. A woman? Discussing a tourist who’d gone missing. A camper? A hiker? The woman’s voice.

Oh, he’s fine, I’m sure. All this fuss over nothing. Fellow probably stumbled and broke his ankle. Or just drifted off and had a nice nap. That’s if he even disappeared from here. Could have been anywhere from here to the highway.

The email from my grandfather flashes back, that podcast link he sent me.

“Paynes Hollow: The Bermuda Triangle of Upstate New York?”

I give myself a thorough shake, glad that Ben has resumed walking, his back to me.

I’m inventing connections. My aunt, Austin Vandergriff, some random hiker. As for breaking an ankle or falling asleep, those are the most likely scenarios in any disappearance like this, where there’s plenty of countryside to wander but not enough to get lost in.

We’re walking on a smaller trail when a voice calls “Ho!” from somewhere to our left. It’s Danny, the deputy assigned to this side of the lake.

“Got something!” he shouts.

I start to run. I race full out, even as Ben shouts for me to slow down, watch where I’m going. I ignore him, dodging through trees, the path abandoned as I run on a direct course to Danny’s voice.

My foot catches a half-buried branch and I go flying face-first, sprawling onto the forest floor. I leap up and get two running steps before my ankle gives out.

Fell and twisted her ankle.

I vault back to my feet.

“Sam!” Ben snaps. “Stop!”

When I ignore him, he catches me around the waist. Maybe that should ignite a wild panic. Maybe it should remind me of all the times his brother grabbed me, threw me down, kicked me, slapped me. But I don’t have that visceral connection. That was Austin. This is Ben. I had never confused the two.

“Slow down,” Ben hisses at my ear, and his tone impatient but not unkind. “It’s okay. Just slow down before you hurt yourself.”

“I need—I need—” I can’t get the words out, and I angrily wipe at my tears.

“You need to see what Danny found. I get it. But you’re not getting there if you fall and impale yourself on a damn branch. Now you’ve done something to your ankle.”

I hiccup a half-hysterical laugh.