Page 80 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

So it wasn’t a dream. Unless this is.

“Am I dreaming?” I ask.

“What?”

His disembodied hand reaches around the doorway and flicks on the light, fumbling a bit, as if he’s trying to do it without looking into my room.

“I’m decent,” I say.

He edges into the frame. “Are you okay? You seem… You took something. To sleep. Of course you did. Dumb question.”

He’s babbling still, which means he really doesn’t sound like himself.

I shake my head. “I didn’t take anything. Just… having nightmares.” I fold the comforter over the soiled part where I threw up and hope he can’t smell it. “That sound. I thought it was part of my dream.” I blink. “Fox, right? That was a fox screaming?”

“Oh.” He rocks back. “Maybe? Fuck.” He rubs his face. “Okay. Maybe? I guess so? That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Wasit a fox?”

He doesn’t answer.

I stand up. “Ben?”

“Hell if I know.” He’s awake enough to sound more like himself. “I woke up to it. Thought it was you, and when you didn’t answer thedoor I remembered I still had the key on my ring.” He pulls the ring from his pocket, finds the cottage key, and yanks it off. “I shouldn’t have this.”

“Ben, I don’t care if you have the key. I don’t care if you came in here to check on me, in case I was the one out there screaming. Good. Great. Thank you. Butwas that a fox? I remember hearing one as a kid but—”

I press my palms to my eyes. “My aunt is missing. Last seen on this property. We just heard screams. And we’re standing here debating whether it was a fox. Fuck!”

I stride to the door, squeeze past him, and yank on my sneakers.

“Sam…”

I spin. “Yes, it was probably a fox. But I just woke up from a dream where I kept finding my aunt too late because I didn’t look. Well, except for the last one where I was the one holding her captive and about to chop her up with the hatchet, which apparently explained the screaming.”

“What?” His face screws up and then he shakes it off. “Never mind. Okay. You’re right about it probably being a fox. But—”

I’m already out the door. He clatters out after me, but by then, I’m off the porch, staring out at the water.

“Ben?” I say.

“I see that,” he says as he comes up beside me. “Your lights.”

“So I’m not imagining them.”

“No.”

“Unless I’m imagining being awake.”

He ignores that and strides past me. I catch the back of his T-shirt, and he spins, hands flying up. I quickly let go.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say.

“It’s fine.”

“Just…” I chew my lip as I look toward the lights, and I want to tell him to stay here. Wait for me. Don’t go near the water. Let me do it. I’ll be fine.

Does that make sense?