Page 89 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

He turns, his hip resting against the railing. “And you weren’t going to mention it?”

“How? It’s not like I read a chapter in a marine-biology text that explains seahorses. Water horses are myth. Legend. Folklore.”

“Yeah, it’s folklore found in a whole lotta places. All roughly the same. As if people were all talking about the same rare animal.”

“We didn’t see a rare animal, Ben. Rotting animals aredeadanimals.”

He straightens. “Actually—”

“Yes, there are parasites that can cause flesh decomposition in living creatures. So can infection. I’m a wannabe doctor, remember?”

“So you do still want to be a doctor?”

“No, I love being a lab tech, making minimum wage with an undergrad degree. It’s awesome. The point is that there is no natural explanation for what we saw.”

“Then maybe there’s an unnatural one.”

When I pull a face, he says, “You believe Smits then. That it’s someone in a costume.”

“No. If you saw what I did, then we both know that was no one in a costume.”

“You’re going in circles, Sam. What we saw has no natural explanation, and we definitely saw it. Yet it can’t be something supernatural?”

“I never said that. I grimaced, because I’m uncomfortable with the idea, but yes, I think we saw some kind of water horse. A cross between those and the drowned dead. With a rider. A headless rider that is…” I let out a breath. “I don’t even want to go there.”

“Because your grandfather insisted ‘Sleepy Hollow’ was based on a local legend, and he might actually be right? He’s allowed to be right. Doesn’t make him less of an asshole.” Ben steps away from the railing. “If we’re accepting that we saw something impossible, then I have something to show you.”

He walks past me and down the steps, leaving me to follow.

Twenty-Six

We’re at the shed. When Ben goes inside, I tense, hesitating. Then I slip in after him. He has his cell-phone light on.

“The clothing is over there,” I say, pointing.

He barely glances that way and only grunts as he walks toward the hole in the foundation.

“I’d like you to check it out,” I say. “Confirm what I saw.”

He makes a noise of obvious annoyance but heads over and lifts my discarded tank top on the end of a spade. “Yep, it’s wet. Yep, it’s been conveniently festooned with lake weed. Can’t confirm it’s yours, but it looks like the sort of thing you wear. Cutoffs and tank tops. Cottage girl circa 1990.”

“Hey!” I say.

“It’s a timeless fashion. Also, those weeds mean it’s a setup. How the hell are there weeds on your shirt after you walk into the lake—presumably dragging your aunt no further than necessary? And why are they still there after you’ve removed your clothing? They could be tangled in your sandals, yes. Caught on your arm or leg, yes. Still wrapped around your tank-top strap after you remove it? No.”

“So someone’s framing me?”

“Uh, yeah, Samantha. Keep up. My money is on your cousin, who seems to have inherited your grandfather’s asshole genes.”

“But we don’t think Caleb staged the drowned dead and horseman.”

“Just because he didn’t do italldoesn’t mean he didn’t doany.The drowned dead—as you call them—are not going into your hamper to take out your clothing. If Caleb keeps going, though, you won’t need to worry about him. Those dead things really don’t like anyone targeting you. They’re like zombie guard dogs—” He stops and says, gruffly, “I shouldn’t be flippant.”

“But you think that’s what they’re doing?”

He doesn’t answer. He heads to that hole and grabs a spade resting against the wall. “I said I wouldn’t fix this because your grandfather refused to comp me. That’s half a lie. I was worried about some critter making a nest inside and your grandfather blaming me for the damage. So I tried finding a way to block the hole as cheaply as I could. Instead, I discovered why the foundation was crumbling.”

I wait for him to go on, and then say, “Okay. Am I supposed to guess?”