Dark Hollows. Steve Frech
to count it by the headlights of his Dodge Challenger, seemingly oblivious to the fact that if a cop drove by, he’d ask what we were doing parked on the side of the road in the woods, counting a stack of money.
“It’s all there, Reggie.”
He glared down the cigarette that was clamped in his lips at me. “Why the fuck would I trust you?”
I decided to keep my mouth shut.
As he hunched over the hood to count the cash, I caught a glimpse of the grip of the massive gun he had tucked into the waistband of his jeans, hidden under his jacket.
He finished counting.
“We happy?” I asked.
“Yeah, we happy.”
He shuffled the large stack of bills, and hit them on the hood of the car to line them up with a tap, tap—
—tap.
The tap on the shop window startles me.
Murphy barks.
I walk out of the office and into the restaurant to see a young couple standing at the door.
“Are you open?” the girl asks in exaggerated tones, as if the glass is soundproof. She also apparently can’t read the sign, or notice the fact that no one is in here.
Still, gotta keep that smile.
“Sorry. We’re closed,” I say.
They move on.
I hit the lights to make sure anyone else who can’t read knows that we’re closed.
*
When I arrive home, the lights are on in the cottage. From the porch, I can see into the living room. Linda Sherman is talking on her phone. Franklin is sitting on the couch, watching TV. I have a feeling this is reminiscent of a lot of their nights at home.
Maybe I should go down there, play the cheerful host, and see how their day went …
Nah. It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.
*
I wake up early, shower, and brew some coffee. I look out the kitchen window and see the Shermans are packing up the car. I’ll go ask them about their stay and wish them safe travels.
I step onto the porch. Murphy’s right there beside me. I walk past the truck and make another mental note about fixing that stupid taillight.
Linda sees me, waves, and starts walking towards me. She’s excited. Even from this distance, I see Franklin roll his eyes and begin to follow. The walking takes a little bit of effort for her, so I go to meet her halfway. She must be really excited, because her limp is less pronounced than yesterday.
“Good morning!” she calls.
“Good morning, Mrs Sherman. How was your stay?”
“Wonderful! Such a perfect little town.”
“Did you do some exploring?”
“We sure did. We saw so many old houses, and we stopped by the ‘Hanging Tree’ in the church cemetery. So creepy.”
“Great,” I say because apparently “creepy” is good.
Why is she looking at me so strangely? Like we have some sort of inside joke?
I glance over to Franklin. He looks tired and, if I’m not mistaken, apologetic. She’s still waiting.
“Well, how does our little town compare to Salem?” I ask. “Did you see any ghosts?”
“Not in town,” she replies with a wink, and waits.
“I … I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“I said not in town.”
“So … you’re saying you did see a ghost?”
She nods, downright giddy, but says nothing.
“I’m still not— Well, where did you see one?”
“We saw one here!” she says with a clap of her hands. “I told you! This place is so old and the town has history and ghosts are everywhere! I said that, didn’t I, Franklin? Didn’t I say that ghosts were everywhere?”
“Yes, you d—”
“And I was right! I just knew it!”
“I’m sorry. I’m still confused. You’re saying you saw a ghost … here?”
She playfully slaps my wrist. “Oh, don’t sound so surprised. You knew. I could tell you knew there was a ghost here when we met, yesterday.”
I glance at Franklin. He shrugs, indicating that I should play along.
“Really? So, uh, what happened?” I ask.
“Well, in the middle of the night, I thought I heard something outside by the door. Franklin heard it, too. Didn’t you, Franklin?”
“Yes, but I—”
“He thought it was deer or something, so he didn’t get up, but I knew. I told you, I have a psychic feel for these things.” She taps her temple for emphasis. “So, I got up and went to the living room, and there she was, standing just off the porch by the front door! She was looking right at me!”
My mouth is dry. My lungs aren’t working properly, and I’m trying desperately to hide it from her.
“She?” I ask.
“Yes! It was a woman ghost!”
“That’s—that’s incredible.”
“I know! Incredible! She was right there!” she says, pointing to a spot near the fire pit.
“So, um, wh—what happened?”
“Well, we stared at one another for a few seconds, and then she smiled at me, and started walking towards the woods. I yelled at Franklin to get up. I yelled, ‘Franklin, get up! You need to see this!’ Didn’t I, Franklin? Didn’t I yell for you to get up?”
“Yes, you did—”
“But he didn’t get up, did you, Franklin?”
“No, I d—”
“He didn’t get up. So, I ran outside and, well, I don’t run so fast,” she says, patting her hip, “and by the time I got out onto the porch, I just caught a glimpse of her as she walked into the trees.” She points again, this time to the path behind the cottage, leading off into the woods to The Sanctuary.
“That’s amazing,” I croak. My throat feels like sandpaper. “What did she look like?”
“Oh, she was beautiful. She was tall, with long red hair, and these really blue eyes. She wore a cloak. And, I’m not sure, but it looked like she had a scar, here, just above her eye.”
“Hello?”
“Maggie, it’s Jacob Reese.”
“Ah, Mr Coffee! How’s it going? Calling to talk smack about the costume contest?”
“Actually, I called to see if you’ve got any rooms available over there at the Elmwood Hotel.”
There’s an understandable pause before she replies. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I had a pipe burst in the cottage, and I need to redirect some guests for a few nights.”
“Well, the only thing I have available is the Rose Suite.”
“The Rose Suite?”
“Yeah.”