Page 47 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
It started with carving my death scenes and leaving dismembered animals in all my secret spots. Austin never pretended he didn’t do it. That was the point—for me to know. Then came that final carving, the one I still shake thinking about.
A carving ofme,lying in pieces, like the squirrels and rabbits he’d left.
Finally, it seems late enough to slip out. I’m turning my doorknob when I see the light shining under the door. I tense in a near spasm, every cell in my body preparing for flight, my brain screaming that I can’t face her, can’t risk the damage to my paper-thin sense of self-worth.
Gail questioned how I could hide my reaction to those animals so well. But I’ve had practice, so much practice. I’ve perfected the art of seeming perfectly calm while inside, I’m this cowering, terrified child.
When I say my mother was always half there, I don’t mean she was vague and absent-minded. She was just always partly someplace else, unknowable to me as a child. High walls, I realize now. Maybe some trauma in her own past. But after my father died, she maintained thatstiff upper lip for my sake, and I mistook it as a sign that she needed me to do the same. To stuff my grief and confusion into a deep hole and present the face that others—including her—seemed to want.
I know better now. I understand how deeply she’d been hurt and how much she wanted to be strong for me, and how she never needed—much less wanted—me to tamp down my trauma until it exploded in the battles of my teen years. But now, through Gail, I also see how others could misinterpret my stoicism as a disturbing lack of emotion.
The point is that I do feel, and I am that terrified child again, afraid of leaving this room no matter how much my stomach grumbles or my bladder screams. I ease the door open just enough to peek out, hoping Gail just left a light for me. Instead, I see her on the sofa, knees up, reading on her phone.
I close the door and retreat.
It’s past midnight. She has to go to bed soon.
I’m lying there, awake and waiting, when I hear her moving. I hold my breath. I just need her to get into her room. From living with her as a teen, I know my aunt’s routine. She’ll hit the washroom first to scrub her face and brush her teeth. Once she’s in her room, she’ll stay there.
Footsteps creak across the living room. I tense, worrying they’ll come my way.
Go to bed. Please. It’s late.
When they grow softer, I exhale under my breath. Moments pass. Did she go to bed? I don’t think so—the bathroom is right beside my bed. I’d hear her in there.
“Sam?”
I jump and stiffen.
Footsteps patter to my door. “Sam? Are you up? I see your lights on the lake.”
I stop breathing as my heart clenches, and something in me shrivels. She’s placating me. Treating me as if I’m still a small child.
Oh, you heard hoofbeats in the forest? Let’s go investigate! Wait, is that a print on the ground?
“Sam?”
I don’t answer. I don’t even breathe. After a few moments, her footsteps recede, and I yank the covers over my head… and fall asleep.
I wake the next morning to a banging at the front door. With my brain still foggy—why do I need to pee so badly?—I stumble from my room and then stand there, blinking.
The front door is open.
The sound I heard wasn’t a knocking—it was the screen door banging in a strong lake breeze.
I back up as I stare at that open door, remembering that I saw someone in the shed. Because IknowI saw someone in the shed.
That sends everything else tumbling back. Yesterday afternoon. Me looking for the hatchet. Gail—
Even as my chest seizes, I back up toward her door, because no matter how hurt—how fuckingdevastated—I am by her betrayal, I am not going to race out and leave her with an intruder.
The cottage is silent except for that screen door slapping. I back into her bedroom door, twist the knob, and retreat inside. Only as I do that do I realize I may have just stepped into the roomwiththe intruder. But if he’s anywhere near my aunt, I’m sure as hell not running.
The room is dark, blind drawn. But it’s silent and still. I ease the door shut and move backward toward her bed.
Then I pause.
Gail already thinks I’m losing my mind. Now I’m showing up at her bedside to protect her from my “imaginary” trespasser?
