Page 11 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
This was one of the things I had unfairly blamed my mother for. To me, we should have moved across the country, where no one knew our names. Instead, we went back to Syracuse, with me attending the same school where everyone knew what my dad did. My mother was a teacher, like my father. Why couldn’t she take me somewhere and homeschool me?
It wasn’t until much later that I understood Momcouldn’tleave. Her father was in Syracuse, suffering from the same ailment she has now. Her mother had taken off for Florida when the disease first appeared, leaving Mom to care for him. He’d been at the stage where a move would have been unbearably traumatic. Combine that with the fact that she had a good teaching job and a good support network in Syracuse, and I understand why she didn’t leave.
But staying in the same neighborhood and going to the same school meant I endured years of whispers and bullying.
Oooh, you cut off Sam Payne in the lunch line? Don’t you know what her dad did? You took your life in your hands.
Uh, Ms. Chu, do you really think you should give Sam Payne a scalpel to dissect that frog? You know what her dad did, right?
I shake it off. I won’t need to worry about what Paynes Hollow thinks of me. I might be allowed to leave for an hour a day, but I don’t plan to. I won’t take any chance of getting in a fender bender or being stuck in a checkout line and losing the property.
I can do this. Iwilldo this. I will beat my grandfather at his game. Win the property. Make sure my mother gets all the help and comfort she deserves. Quietly give money to Austin Vandergriff’s family. Donate to Paynes Hollow, if they’ll let me do it anonymously. I will fix everything that my father and grandfather screwed up.
Will I fix my own life, too? Is med school finally in my future? Even thinking about that makes me anxious. I’ll focus on the rest.
I will be okay. However this turns out, I will be okay.
Nothing at Paynes Hollow can hurt me worse than I’ve already been hurt. The only ghosts there exist in my mind, and I’ve dealt with them so far. Maybe, as much as I hate to give my grandfather any credit, this summer really will help.
See the property for what it is: a piece of land and nothing more.
See my father for what he really was: a good dad but a monstrous person.
One can be both, as hard as that is to accept.
Maybe, after this summer, I will finally accept it.
Gail bypasses the village of Paynes Hollow. I don’t even realize she’s done it until I see a familiar Private Drive sign and frown, wondering how I missed all the landmarks. Because she took a route that didn’t exist fourteen years ago. The last community we drove through was unrecognizable—a vacation-home development from the past decade or so.
Even this road leading to the property isn’t what I remember. For one thing, it’s paved. For another, there are a whole lot more No Trespassing–style signs on the trees lining the road.
Back when we stayed here, there was just that one discreet Private Drive sign, meant for outsiders who might mistake the lane into our property for a regular road. Locals had been welcome to camp on the property and use the west side for fishing, swimming, and boat launching. But now there are endless signs—NO TRESPASSING,PRIVATE PROPERTY,NO LAKE ACCESS,NO THROUGH ROAD,PROTECTED BY SECURITY. There’s even a gate.
“Huh,” I say. “Looks like it’s locked. Well, we tried. Time to go home.”
Gail passes me a key.
“Damn it,” I mutter. “What about the caretaker? I don’t want to get shot opening the gate. We probably should turn around.”
“I wish,” she says. “I’m guessing the caretaker is some local old-timer. Hopefully collecting the big bucks from my father’s estate while never setting foot on the land. It’s not as if Dad would have known.”
I shake my head. “Your father probably paid him a hundred bucksa month and expected GPS proof that he was driving around the property every day.”
“Sadly true. We’ll meet him tonight, according to Ms. Jimenez. My plan is to relieve him of his duties, with full pay, of course. I don’t think we want some old guy wandering around with his hunting rifle.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I swing open the door. “If I’m shot by the caretaker, isthata loophole?”
“Probably not.”
I head to the gate. The lock is new, and that gives me pause. Gail was joking about the elderly caretaker who never bothered to come out here, but this lock suggests she might be right. I imagine the lawyer calling to warn him that we’re coming today, and he rushes out to put a lock on the gate, look as if he’s been doing his job.
Doesn’t matter. I don’twantan attentive caretaker—like Gail said, we’ll be giving him the month off, with pay of course. But I do like the idea of some old codger conning my grandfather out of a caretaker’s pay.
Beyond the gate, the road is overgrown on both sides, bushes and trees crowding in with barely enough room for Gail’s tiny car to pass. I remember Mom grumbling about how fast the brush grew, and Dad would be out here early the first morning, making sure it was clear for her grocery run.
I swallow hard. Then I heave open the gate and—
Pain stabs through my hand, and I drop the gate with a hiss. I hold out my hand as a line of blood opens up across my palm, the skin splitting.
