Page 88 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

He nods without turning.

I hesitate and then say, “You don’t need to stay. In fact, it’s safer for you if you don’t.”

“I’m fine.”

I prop the screen door open. “Ben?”

He grunts and keeps looking toward the beach.

“We saw a man dragged into the lake last night,” I say. “And maybe you don’t want to bring it up, but we both know that—” My throat closes, and I force myself to keep going. “We know that’s what happened to my aunt. The photo…”

I can’t finish. I swallow hard and say, “It happens at night.”

“Seems so.”

“You’re hereat night.”

“It’s not night now.”

“So you’ll leave by dark?”

Silence. Then, “We shouldn’t argue about this.That’snot safe.”

I swallow again. “Gail and that camper both fought with me. That’s what you’re thinking.”

“I saw him last night,” he says, his gaze on the water, voice hollow.“My brother. Austin. He was one of those—those things, coming out of the water.”

I flinch, my stomach tightening, but Ben’s still looking forward and doesn’t see my reaction, only continues with, “He was still a thirteen-year-old boy. Still dead. But that’s not possible.”

When I don’t answer, he peers over. “You saw him last night, too.”

I pause, wanting to offer comfort in lies. Then I say, “It was the night my tracker shows me going out. I saw the lights, like I said. But what the tracker doesn’t show…” I wrap my arms around me. “I didn’t walk back to the cottage. I ran.”

“Because you saw him.”

I nod. “That’s another reason I thought I was losing my mind. Not just seeing the drowned dead. Seeing Austin. He didn’t drown. My dad…” Another hard swallow. “My father killed him and then he was buried. He’s not in the lake. So it must be a trick. Maybe…” I look at him. “Maybe that’s it. Like Gail. It’s not her. It’s some creature imitating her to lure me in. Same as Austin.”

“Looking like Austin to lure you in. To lure me in. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess.”

He looks back at the lake, forearms on the railing as he bends down. I’m about to head inside when he glances over. “You wouldn’t happen to have a smoke, would you?”

“Cigarette? No. You smoke?”

“Not since I was a kid. But today?” He looks at the lake again. “I could really use one.”

“My aunt Ellen is a smoker,” I say. “There might be some in their cottage, if you don’t mind fourteen-year-old cigarettes.”

He snorts and says, “I’ll pass,” but his gaze still flicks in that direction as if considering it.

“You could go to town and grab a pack,” I say.

He doesn’t even answer that. Again, I’m starting to retreat when he speaks, not looking over. “You read that old book you brought from the crawl space?”

“Yes.”

“I took a look last night. You saw the parts on the water horses?”

“Yes.”