Page 65 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
One of her eyes is missing.
It’smissing.
The other eye is filmed over. Her skin sags, and there’s a gash in her shoulder where I can see through to the bone.
“Sam,” she says again. “Help.”
She reaches for me, and finger bones poke through her skin, the tips gone, as if nibbled by fish and—
I turn and run for the beach. I splash through the water, hot tears running down my face, my vision blurred as I run for the shore. My foot hits the sand and I veer left, still running blindly.
“Sam? Sam!”
This is a new voice. Not Gail. Not my aunt. I don’t know who it is. I don’t know where it’s coming from. I just run, tear-blinded, until I bash into something. I flail, pushing and scratching as arms fold around me.
“Sam! It’s me. It’s Ben.”
Hands grab my shoulders. Warm hands, hot through my nightshirt. When I try to wrench away again, he scoops me up, holding me tight.
Nineteen
I’m not sure how Ben gets me back to the cottage. I’m not even sure what I do. Fight? Lie there like a limp rag? The next thing I know, he’s depositing me on the sofa, and I bolt upright, clawing at the air.
“Gail!” I say. “I saw… I saw…”
All I see are his dark eyes above me as they widen. “Your aunt? You saw her? Where? I’ll—”
“No!” I grab his shirt. “Drowned. She’s dead. Drowned.”
“Fuck.”His eyes shut for a second. Then he takes hold of my upper arms, holding me, his grip so warm I want to melt into it. “Okay. You saw her body. I’ll look after this. Just tell me where—”
I shake my head, damp hair whipping my face. “She’s alive. Dead, but alive. Walking. Dead. Out of the water. Drowned. The drowned dead.”
An exhale that almost sounds like relief, and my brain spins wildly. Relief? Why is he relieved? My aunt is a monster. The living dead. She’s—
“It’s okay,” he says, as that heat envelops me in a tight but quick hug. “You had a nightmare.”
“No, no, no! You don’t understand. She was dead. Dead! Drowned! Coming out of the water. Coming for me. And the horseman. The—the headless horseman. Drowned. The rider. The horse. Drowned and rotting, just like—”
Somehow, despite my hysteria, I have the presence of mind to clamp my mouth shut before I say more.
Before I say Austin’s name.
I gulp deep breaths, and Ben pats one of my hands. The touch is more awkward now, as if his own moment of panic has passed.
“You had a nightmare,” he says. “You were sleepwalking and—”
“No!” I say, gaze flying up to his. “I thought it was a nightmare, but I was awake. You were there. I woke you. So I wasawake.I saw my aunt. Drowned. Dead. The horseman—the horse.” My breathing picks up, words tumbling out, hysteria spiking. “Dead. Everything dead and still moving and—”
“Sam?”
“I saw them. Saw her. Her eye was gone and her fingertips and—”
Something appears in front of my face. I didn’t even notice him leave but now he’s holding out a shot glass of amber liquid that smells of rye whiskey.
“Drink this,” he says.
I shake my head, tears spilling, heart racing.
