Page 52 of The Souls of Lost Lake

Eddie was sitting on the edge of her bed, fully clothed in jogging pants and a T-shirt. “S’all right. I was up anyway.”

“Patty?” Wren startled, worried Patty was losing her final battle for life.

Eddie shook his head. “Mom’s fine. At least—well, you know.”

Wren drew in a shuddering breath and nodded. “Yeah.” She knew. One of these days or nights that wouldn’t be the answer. Death was a ticking bomb just waiting to go off, but it had hidden its timer from them. They had no concept of how to prepare.

“Want to talk about it?” Eddie offered. His familiar face, crooked nose, and warm eyes brought her comfort. Wren relaxed, allowingthe tension to drain from her shoulders. She shivered, chilled from her sweaty clothes.

“No. No, it’s okay.”

“You probably should talk about it.” Eddie didn’t mince his words.

“I don’t want to.” How could she describe the hand? That horrible dead hand?

“Was she dead?” Eddie’s blunt question startled Wren.

“What do you mean?”

“In your dream. Was Jasmine dead?”

Wren shook her head vehemently. “No. I didn’t see her at all this time. I called for her, but I—it was—I was—missing. It was me.Iwas the one missing.” Realization seeped into her. Wren turned a confused face toward Eddie. “A woman was calling for me, and evil ... evil was in the woods.”

“Evil?” Eddie frowned.

Wren realized she was clutching the sheet so tight her knuckles were white. She couldn’t release it. It was as if she held on for the sake of her life.

“What do you mean ‘evil’?” Eddie pressed.

Wren met his eyes. A tear slipped from hers. “There’s evil at Lost Lake, Eddie. I canfeelit.”

Concern brewed on his face. For her. Eddie was concerned for her state of mind. But all Wren felt anxious about at the moment was the hand. The rotting hand of wickedness that guarded the secrets, which had begun the day Ava Coons murdered her family.

21

Ava

The woods were alive, and they were evil. Ava could sense it the deeper she went. Hidden out here with the wild creatures were the ghouls of the forest. The souls and spirits that dipped, dodged, and intertwined with the trees. They mocked her. They mocked her memories—or lack thereof.

Ava’s toe hit a root buried under leaves. She lurched forward, falling to the ground, her hands outstretched to catch herself. Skinned palms stung as she rolled to a sitting position. She held them up, dawn’s light stretching through the tree covering. They weren’t bleeding, just scratched.

She looked around her, trying to regain her bearings. They were here, somewhere. The bones of her family. The dusky memories were so vague they taunted Ava with their elusive summons. Beckoning her to remember while playing hide-and-seek at the same time. Nothing in the woods looked familiar. It was all trees, and boulders, and an occasional stream or marshy area. A grove of poplar trees grew in the distance, mimicking birch trees with their white trunks.

Ava frowned. She remembered a small piece of poplar that sat on a rough table. The wood had been partially hollowed out, andsomeone had put a candle in it. The flame flickered. Licking at the air. Dipping when the air was disturbed.

“Stick yer finger in it.”

Ava jerked her head up. She’d heard the voice as distinctly as if it had been in front of her. Only she was alone. It was her brother’s voice. Just changing from boy to man. Ava closed her eyes to allow the memory to wash over her.

“I ain’t stickin’ my finger in no fire,” she’d argued back.

“Promise won’t hurt none. See?” Arnie swiped his index finger through the candle flame. It came out unscathed.

Intrigued, Ava squirmed to her knees on the wobbly chair she sat on. She half climbed onto the table so she could reach the poplar and its candle. Reaching out her finger, she hesitated. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” Arnie swiped his finger into the flame and back again. “See? Not even a blister.”

Ava moved to drag her finger through the flame.