Page 112 of The Souls of Lost Lake
Pippin’s eyes darkened. “Shut up!” he growled. Shoving her, Wren fell to the ground. With his foot against her backside, he pushed her forward into the camouflaged blind. She crumpled inside its dark interior. It smelled dank. Musty. Like urine mixed with earth.
Pippin glared at her as he whipped out another zip tie. He wrestled her ankles together and bound them with it. He tightened the tie before fumbling on the ground for something. Wren heard the metalclinkof chain. It snaked underneath the bottom of the blind, having been bolted into the dead oak tree just outside. Pippin zip-tied her to the chain and then sat back on his heels. Wren tried to get her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the blind. Light seeped in from a few tiny tears, but otherwise it was well hidden under the brush.
“I’ll be back.” His voice had leveled again. “I’ve got some work I need to get done. I need to figure out what to do with you.” It was so matter-of-fact that it stunned Wren for a second. Then reality rushed in as she realized he planned to leave her here in the woods.
“Pippin!” she yelled. “Don’t leave me in here!”
He backed away and dropped the tent flap into place, zipping it closed. His voice from outside sent a chill through her. “You can scream if you need to. It might make you feel better. In the back of the blind there’s a gallon of water. I’ll be back in the morning.”
And then it was just his footsteps she heard, cracking twigs as he hiked away.
Wren sat in a huddled heap on the ground in the blind. She sucked in a terrified sob. Confusion, hurt, the shock of what had happened to her as a baby made her numb. But fear of Pippin’s instability terrified her. How she hadn’t seen it or put two and two together. His emotional distance. His social withdrawal. The way he isolated himself in the basement of his parents’ house as a grown man. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t typical. Yet there had been no reason to suspect anything other than he was ... well, Pippin.
“Hello?”
Wren screamed. The voice had come from the far back of the blind. In the darkest corner. It was small. Alone. Wren stopped her wild and irrational scream. She steadied her breathing as claustrophobia warred with reason.
“Who’s there?” she breathed.
Silence.
“Who said ‘hello’?” Wren insisted.
A faint voice answered, “I’m Jasmine.”
45
Ava
Birds clamored from the treetops, crows and blackbirds cawing and a hawk screeching its way overhead. The thud of the ax was dull as it planted deep into the earth just shy of Widower Frisk as he rolled away from Ned. Ned tugged at the embedded ax, and it released easily from the dirt. Fury was etched into every crevice of his face.
“Ned!” Ava screamed, her throat raw.
He hesitated as he moved to draw the ax over his head again.
Their eyes met, and in that moment, Ava remembered.
She huddled behind the potato barrel as the man descended the ladder. Heavy shoes—work boots—landed on the cellar’s dirt floor.
“Ava?” the man’s voice cooed gently. Coaxing. Laced with comfort and friendliness but cloaked with the horror of her family’s screams. All was silent now. “Ava, come out. You’re gonna be fine.”
She peeked around the barrel, her gaze traveling up the man’s body as she clutched the doll to her chest. The eyes were familiar. He was young. Not much older than Arnie, but still a full-grown man. His chest heaved with breathing, as if he’d been working hard. There were specks of red on his face, on his shirt, his pants. It was Ned.
Ned had always been safe before. Maybe he’d saved her family. Maybe he’d come along and gotten rid of whoever had made them scream.
Ava hesitated behind the barrel.
Ned smiled. He reached out a hand. “That’s it, Ava. Come here.”
She remembered Ned well. Many times when Pa was gone with the boys to cut wood or go into town, Ned would show up. Ma always seemed to like Ned. They were friendly. She’d caught them hugging once and it’d dawned on her then that maybe they were too familiar with each other. Ma was pretty, but she was older’n Ned. Ned didn’t seem to care. It bothered Ava. She’d almost asked Pa about it, but something had held her back.
Last time Ned had been here, he and Ma had argued. Somethin’ fierce. Ava didn’t know why. She remembered Ma saying somethin’ about “Not doing this anymore,” and Ned getting all huffy. He’d left, but he gave her a peppermint stick before going.
Finally, Ava stood from her crouch behind the barrel. “Is Ma okay?” she asked.
Ned winced, then smiled. “Y-yeah. Ava, your ma, she’s—there’s been a bit of an accident.”
And Ned had led her up the cellar stairs. She’d seen her pa, and then her ma, lyin’ on the floor. And she’d screamed. Ned had reached for her, but she bit him. She’d crawled to her mother, tried to make sense of her mother’s last words, and then she’d smelled the smoke. When she turned, Ned was gone. But the cabin was on fire. She had to get her family to water where they wouldn’t burn...
