Page 71 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
I set the book down and rub my temples. What am I looking for here? A legend that will explain what I saw? That’s theoppositeof finding a scientific answer. Am I looking to figure out what Caleb—or whoever is responsible—might be imitating? What difference would that make?
I put the book aside. It’s barely past seven, still full light and safe to go out.
The danger only comes at night.
Like my grandfather said.
More temple rubbing as I banish the thoughts. The point is that it’s full light, and I don’t need to stay indoors.
I want to talk to Ben. No, I just want to talk to someone, and not about water horses and wild hunts or even my aunt’s disappearance. I want distraction from that, and Ben is sure to provide it, if only by grumbling that entertaining me isn’t his job.
I head to his tent first. “Ben?”
No answer.
“Benjamin?”
If he’s inside and choosing to be unsociable, using his full name should get a snort and tell me where he is. It’s quiet. I peer around. He arrived a few hours ago, and the joke of Ben doing “Ben stuff” doesn’t really explain his continued invisibility.
WhatdoesBen do here? According to him, he keeps my cottage clean and in good repair, which isn’t necessary with me here. He also clears the lane of debris, but that’s only necessary after a storm. He’ssupposed to do regular sweeps of the property, but that was done thoroughly after Gail disappeared.
So what the hell else is he doing out there now?
Ben stuff.
I shake my head and peer around. My gaze settles on the road, and I remember the hole in the shed that he said he was going to fix. That would take some time, and I wouldn’t hear him working on it, unlike if he was wielding a chain saw or weed cutter.
I head to the shed, but there’s no sign of him. I circle the building, and I’m about to leave when I see the lock is open.
Latched but unlocked.
A shiver runs through me.
I’ve been trying to solve this mystery since the day I arrived. How could someone have been in the shed when it was latched?
Walking over, I say “Ben?” but there’s no answer. I remove the padlock. Then I open the shed and call again, “Ben?”
No answer.
I step inside and pull the door mostly shut. Then I reach through the gap to try putting the lock back on. I can… if I just hang it on the outer hasp. When I found it, though, the latch was shut, the padlock holding it closed.
Is it possible to do that so the person inside can still get out?
I spend ten minutes trying to accomplish it. Shut the door with just enough of a gap to get my fingers out and put the lock back on.
Every time I try it, the lock ends up on the ground, fumbled by my contortions. Sweat drips down my brow. I open the door wide to let in the evening breeze. Then I take out my phone, turn on the light, and look around the shed.
Have I missed anything? A spot where someone could access the shed, bypassing the lock?
Part of me whispers “What does it matter?” but I know the answer. Gail thought I imagined someone in the shed.
Imagined it? Or lied about it?
I know I didn’t lie. I also know I was not mistaken. Except those aren’t the only two explanations, and it’s the third one that keeps me out here, checking everything, desperation rising as cold fear seeps in.
I thought I saw lights on the water. I thought I saw Austin’s drowned body coming from the lake. I thought I saw some zombified version of the water-horse lore with a headless rider.
Were they sleeping hallucinations? Waking nightmares? The man in the shed doesn’t seem to have been either, so maybe the explanation for all of them is that…
