Page 21 of The Woman in the Hollow
“Will do, boss,” Ant said before sauntering away.
I grabbed a bucket, lined it with a black garbage bag, then made my way toward the path as all the performers made their way out, weapons down at their sides, some already wiping off their makeup, others discussing their plans to head to a restaurant for some food.
“Have a good night, guys,” I called, getting a chorus of goodbyes as they all made their way toward the parking lot.
When I first started this job, there was a creepy factor to the woods at night, with all the tree branches casting shadows, the leaves falling, catching me off guard and making my heart stutter.
After a few treks through it with scream tracks, spooky laughter, and chants from creepy little kids filtering throughthe speakers, the sound of the crickets chirping and the leaves crunching became kind of soothing.
Pulling the headlamp off the carabiner on my belt loop, I put it on my head and set it to the brightest setting so I could make sure to find all of the ick.
I pulled down some of the ropes so I could move deeper into the woods to toss the shovelfuls of sick and dirt.
I was on my way back from the third trip when something to the side caught my eye.
“Hello?” I called.
My hair pricked, and a little shiver slid down my spine as I realized that everyone who worked at the garden center was long gone and I was all alone.
Maybe the smart move was just to turn around and walk away, to show up early the next day and inspect things in the daylight.
But the manager in me—and you know, my moral compass—didn’t want to walk away in case someone was hurt. I mean, sure, it seemed like someone clearly moved off the marked path again. But that didn’t mean I could leave them there if they were passed out drunk or suffering from some sort of medical emergency.
I inched closer, my headlamp shining on the body on the ground, the white t-shirt splashed with blood.
“Oh, ha ha,” I called to the woods, my voice raised. “Playing a prank on the boss. Very funny. Is that you, Stewart?” I called, taking in his larger frame.
Normally Stewart carried a chainsaw, though. And that was a big knife on the ground beside him, the stage blood looking almost black in the low light.
“Alright. That’s enough, guys. You know this won’t work on me. I don’t have a reaction to jump scares anymore.”
There was a little quiver in my voice that betrayed my words, though.
“Bobby, get up. You’re going to be filthy.”
The leaves crunched under my feet, the sound making my pulse ratchet up.
“Come on. This is stupid.”
Without realizing it, my gaze was trained on the guy’s back, like something was needling me about the sight up ahead.
As I crept closer, my stomach churned harder as my fingers clenched around the shovel handle.
I started to stare, unblinking. As I did, sweat trickled down from my neck, tracking my spine.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
Twenty.
And the guy’s chest didn’t appear to be rising and falling.
“Hey, uh, Bobby…”
Only as I got closer could I see things I had missed before.
Namely, that this guy’s hair was darker and shorter than Bobby’s light brown that he always had pulled into a hideously thin man bun at the top of his head.
