Page 84 of Buried in the Woods Below

I slide from beneath the covers and crawl across the cold hardwood, my oversize T-shirt whispering against the floor. I crouch beneath the sill, every nerve in my body thrumming.

Thunder, but no rain. A giggle. Distant. Too light. Too close.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Ghost of Big Island? Seriously? I’m losing it.

But I rise anyway and peek through the glass.

And I see her. A blur through the fog.

A girl.

The same one from the other night, dark hair bouncing behind her. She moves like mist.

I blink. She’s gone. No. No, not again. My breath stutters. Something inside me cracks.

I snap.

I’m done. With the whispers. The shadows. The lies. I need to know.

I fling open the front door, barefoot and half mad, the cold, wet gravel biting into my soles as I sprint through the humid blackness toward the apparition. My heartbeat thrashes. I round the side of the house—

Nothing.

Just fog curling low like smoke. Silence so thick it chokes. Then another giggle, this time behind me.

I spin.

No one.

The wind hisses through the trees. Taunting me. I grab the croquet mallet from the lawn. The feel of cold, damp wood steadies me.

Crunch.

Near the shed.

I inch toward it, the mallet raised like a baseball bat. The lock hangs open, swinging gently.

But Eric locked it. Didn’t he?

I take a breath. Then another.

And yank the door open.

Two ghostly figures leap out.

“BOO!” Penelope and Emma shriek in unison, their grins bright and cruel, like jack-o’-lanterns.

My heart slams into my ribs. My grip loosens.

“You thought we were ghosts, didn’t you?” Penelope beams. Each of them grabs my wrists, bouncing up and down, so proud of themselves for scaring me, their laughter ringing through the night.

I know that laugh. It’s the laugh of the girls I grew up with. The ones who see kindness as weakness. I’m eight years old again. On the playground at recess. Girls tripping me and laughing. Chanting “Char-klutz, Char-klutz.” Me fighting back the tears. Forcing myself to get up, knowing they’ll push me back down again.

I stare at the twins, body trembling. For a second—just a second—I consider swinging the mallet. Not hard. Just enough to wipe the smirk off their faces.

Instead, I gather myself. Barely.

“Bed. Now.”