The Children on the Hill(72)

“Car accident.”

They made their way slowly down the hill as the rain drenched them, and all the while, Vi was thinking about how disappointed Eric was going to be when he learned his ghoul wasn’t a ghoul at all but some state college student. Maybe, she thought, maybe it’d be better if he didn’t know.

“So why are you spying on us?” Vi asked.

“I’m working on a story.”

“By sneaking around in the woods, harassing kids?” Iris asked.

“Listen, I tried the usual route, really I did. I went to the Inn, talked to Dr. Hutchins and Dr. Hildreth, but they didn’t have much to say. In fact, they threatened to call the police and have me hauled off for trespassing if I came back.”

“That’s why you put on the mask?” Iris asked.

“Uh-huh. I didn’t want to take the chance of Dr. Hildreth recognizing me.”

“Is the story you’re writing about eugenics and Dr. Hicks?” Vi asked.

“It started out that way, but things have changed. The story has grown. The Dr. Hicks thing might have just been a door that led me to the true story, the bigger story.”

“Which is?” Vi asked.

Julia stopped walking and winced a little. Vi wasn’t sure if it was because of pain or because of the question.

“I think,” Julia said, her voice level and slow like she was choosing her words carefully, “that I’ve said enough for now.”

“You’re writing about the Inn,” Iris said. “You know there’s something strange going on there.”

“Shut up, Iris,” Vi warned.

Julia turned and looked steadily at both girls. “You two wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? About something strange going on over there? Experiments, maybe?”

“The Mayflower Project,” Iris said.

Vi grabbed Iris’s arm and gave it a twist. “Shu-ut uu-p!” she growled.

Even in the darkness, Vi could see that Julia’s jaw had actually fallen open and her eyes were all buggy like a cartoon character’s.

“But, Vi,” Iris said. “Maybe she can help us.”

“No,” Vi said. It was too dangerous. Sharing their secrets with a stranger. A college student. Someone they didn’t know or trust. A monster imposter.

“I can help you, but only if you tell me what you know,” Julia said. “Please.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Vi jumped in before Iris got a chance to blab anything else.

Julia blew out a frustrated breath. “You know what got me into journalism? I’ve got this idea, this belief, that the truth wants to be told. It’s always there, just beneath the surface or hidden deep in some locked-away box, calling to be let out.”

“I think you’re right,” Iris said. “I think—”

“We can’t help you,” Vi interrupted, giving Iris’s arm another warning, shut-the-hell-up twist. “We’ll get you back to the road, but that’s it. And if we catch you spying on us anymore, I’ll tell Gran.”





Lizzy

August 21, 2019




TIME TO GO.

Constable Pete had the book, the doll, and the gun. There was no doubt about it now: I was a suspect. Evidence gathered, he’d be returning at any minute with a team of state troopers to arrest me.

I was no good to poor Lauren if the state police dragged me down to the barracks for hours of questioning, for possible arrest.

Where did you get the doll, Miss Shelley?

I found it.

They’d never believe me.

Where did you say you grew up, Miss Shelley? Or is there another name we should use?

I felt the walls closing in.

The monster knew where I was.

Maybe she was watching me right now, studying my every move.

I scanned the trees surrounding my campsite. A few campsites down from mine, a father and son building a fire. A woman walked by on the camp road, a basset hound on a leash lagging behind her.

I disconnected the solar panel, took the chocks from behind the wheels. I tried to move slowly, act natural—just a tourist going out to explore the Green Mountain State.

I quickly got dressed, packed up the inside of the van, made sure everything was tucked away, latched or strapped down. I left the bed unmade.

I reached into my pocket, felt Gran’s lighter and the little pebble—the wishing stone.

The Monster gives the Monster Hunter a stone so she can make a wish.

What does the hunter wish for?

What did I wish for?

I wrapped my fingers around the stone. “That I find you before you find me,” I whispered.

I settled into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition and turned it.

Nothing happened.

No comforting hum of the engine, just a sad cough, then nothing.

I tried again.

Shit.

I jumped out, popped the hood, checked the connections. Didn’t see anything unusual.

I got back in and tried it again.

My eyes searched the dashboard. Then I saw it: the fuel gauge. The needle was at empty.

It didn’t make sense.

I knew damn well I’d had nearly half a tank of gas yesterday.

I hopped out of the van again, got down on my belly to peer underneath, checking for a leak. Nothing.