Page 94 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

She nods. “I have my notes on the cloud. Let me pull them up.”

Twenty-Eight

Josie shares her research with me. It’s what she already summed up, people disappearing who were last seen in this area. Only, in her research, they come to life as individuals. Two brothers who’d arrived seeking work during the Depression and disappeared, the story being that they fought, one killed the other and then fled. A woman on her own in the 1940s, who had “clearly” walked into the lake and drowned herself after failing to find a husband. A honeymooning couple in the fifties, who’d pitched a tent outside town and the woman woke to find her new husband missing, everyone whispering that he’d run off. The stories seem to trickle off after that, with only three until the late nineties. Then five disappearances in twenty years, ending a decade ago.

I need to talk to Ben. There are things I still haven’t told Josie, starting with the headless horseman and ending with the book Ben found. He might say it’s my call, but I’m at the point where I need a second opinion, whether he wants to give it or not.

Finding him is easy enough. He’s out by the lake, staring into the water.

“I’m fine,” he says without turning as I approach.

“Because it’s daylight?”

He grunts and keeps staring out. Then he shakes it off and turns. “Because I’ll see them coming.”

“You’re thinking about Austin.”

His gaze darts back to the water, telling me he doesn’t want to discuss it. Neither do I. It’s too fraught a subject on too many levels. I only asked because I want to acknowledge his pain and confusion, in case he needs to talk.

I tell him what I’ve shared with Josie. Then I tell him about the missing people.

“Huh,” he says when I finish.

“‘Huh’? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yep.”

When I glare, he says, “What else do you want me to say, Sam? That all these missing people were dragged into the lake? To prove it, we’d need to dig up photos of each person and compare them to the creatures we saw.”

“We could do that.”

“And then what? Tell Sheriff Smits? Does knowing who they are help us stop them? Or put them to rest? Or whatever the hell they need? Does naming them even mean that’s who we’re seeing? We’ve already speculated that they might take on the appearance of someone who died.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. “Okay.”

He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, Sam. You and Josie came up with a theory that’s interesting in a theoretical way. But practically, it doesn’t help us.”

“So what does?” I shake my head. “Never mind. That’s not why I’m here anyway. I didn’t tell Josie about the horseman. Should I do that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“And the book?”

He hesitates. Then he shakes his head. “You need to read it first.”

“To make that determination?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you just tell me what it says?”

He exhales a slow breath and runs his hand through his hair again.

“You want me to figure it out for myself,” I say.

“I’ll guide you through it.” He looks out at the water. “Before sundown.”

Silence falls, and we both stand there, staring at the water before I whisper, “What are we doing, Ben?”