Page 52 of The Woman in the Hollow
I needed to sleep on things. To give my system a chance to absorb the shock and fear and uncertainty.
Instead, I walked down my hallway and grabbed an all-black outfit. I tied back my hair. I put on a baseball cap. Then I grabbed a flashlight and the little canister of pepper spray I’d bought myself before starting the long drive from Florida to New Jersey.
I lowered my phone light all the way down, turned off my ringer, then shoved it in my pocket, got in my car, and drove back down the highway.
The long day had my eyes paper-dry, but my mind was wired as I parked my Jeep in the shopping mall before climbing out and making my way into the woods.
They were always spooky at night. But it felt even more sinister as I made my way through them in the pre-dawn hours, knowing that the land belonged to the mafia, that they wouldn’t be okay with me searching it. Especially if they knew I planned to run right to the police if I found what I thought I would.
I spotted the trail ahead, then stepped away from it, heading deeper into the woods.
Each step was met with a crunch and a snap, leaves and branches underfoot, and I swear each footfall seemed attached to a megaphone.
Though it was hard to hear much over the whoosh of my pulse in my ears, the thundering clap of my heart against my ribcage.
I kept my flashlight aimed low, hoping no one would be able to see it if they were at the garden center.
When I’d been heading home earlier, I’d seen a few men setting up a bunch of cameras. The last thing I needed was to be caught on them red-handed.
I tucked my chin to my chest and kept moving, scanning the ground for anything that didn’t quite look right.
The sun was just starting to streak through the forest when I finally saw something that had my back straightening and my blood turning to ice.
It wouldn’t have given anyone pause if they weren’t both incredibly familiar with the woods themselves and looking for something that felt off.
Right there, between two large pine trees, the ground looked wrong.
Leaves were piled, scraped inward toward a central point, leaving other parts of the forest floor bare.
If you looked closely enough, you could even see the little teeth marks from the rake in the dry dirt.
Someone had raked the leaves into a pile. And I was pretty sure I knew why.
But ‘pretty sure’ wasn’t good enough.
I wasn’t going to be able to take my next steps until I knew, until I saw it with my own two eyes.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I stepped forward.
Stretching out a leg, I started to kick the piles of dried leaves away until what was before me was a patch of recently disturbed earth.
I swallowed back the sick feeling in my stomach as I slipped on a pair of gloves I’d taken from my car first aid kit, lowered down to my knees, set my flashlight down, and reached to start pulling the dirt away.
I dug for what felt like hours as the sun continued to rise. Sweat beaded on my brow, slid down my back. Little specks ofdirt mingled with the moisture to make me feel gritty as I kept digging, as I went deeper and deeper.
My knees hurt, my lower back and shoulders screamed. I was pretty sure when I pulled off my gloves, they would be full of blood with how much my fingertips hurt.
But nothing would stop me.
Not until I could put my mind to rest.
The earth felt oddly warmer as I continued to work and there was a strange sour scent all around me that I couldn’t quite place.
My fingers scraped one last time.
Then I reeled back with a cry, dropping hard onto my ass as my heart punched so hard against my chest that I was sure I was going to have a heart attack right there in the woods by myself.
I gulped at the air, hoping that enough oxygen might make me less dizzy, might be able to clear my mind. But with each deep breath, my nose burned with the scent of rot.
