The Dead and the Dark(24)

Logan moved in front of her, hands raised to slow her down. “You want to go toward the ghost piano?”

“It’s not a ghost piano.” Ashley scooted around her. “But get your, uh … stuff ready. I don’t know who’d be playing it.”

Logan froze. “Wait, what stuff?”

“Like from the show. The thing that finds ghosts.”

Logan blinked.

“You’re supposed to be the ghost hunter,” Ashley snapped.

“Why would I have gear on me? We didn’t even stop at the motel.”

“I thought you guys just carried that stuff with you.” Ashley grimaced. “You don’t have anything on you?”

“I don’t even know if the stuff my dads use is real.” Logan laughed. “Besides, I was only on the show one time. I barely know how to use it.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. A warm breeze sifted through the junipers and the sunlight through the branches was thick as gold. The piano music continued, soft and sweet and lilting on the wind. Ashley looked at Logan, then turned toward the cabin. Logan’s heart skipped a beat. There was something familiar about it, just like there was something familiar about the trees. It was just beyond her reach, a hair fainter than memory.

“It’s coming from in here,” Ashley said. Her voice was so soft it sounded like she was in a trance. “I’ll show you.”

They hiked to the front of the building. Cabin was a generous word. The structure was completely broken down, wooden planks that once stood upright now bent as though the sky had pressed its palm to the roof and slanted the whole thing. The windows were smashed, fractals of broken glass sticking jagged from the rotten frames. Pillows of moss coated the corners of the roof.

“Do you smell that?” Ashley asked.

Logan closed her eyes. There was a distinct smell coming from the cabin, like spiced cider and wood smoke. It was a smell she remembered, though she couldn’t place it. It conjured up memories of laughter she couldn’t quite hear. She tasted blackberries on her tongue. The bones of a memory were scattered before her, but she couldn’t bring them to life. It was suffocating, this familiarity.

“You’ve been here before?” Logan asked.

“Yeah…” Ashley trailed off. “We come here sometimes to hang out. I’ve never been here during the day, though. It’s … different.”

They made their way to the front door. The piano music continued, following them all the way to the rotting front porch. When Ashley pressed the door open, the music stopped, replaced by the groan of old wood under their feet. The inside of the cabin looked less surreal than the outside; the floor was littered with beer cans, spent cigarettes, and dusty footprints. The walls were etched with names. A ratty gray sofa was pressed into the corner of the main room, and beside it, a dirt-stained cloth covered what Logan assumed was a piano. She didn’t need to uncover it to know it hadn’t been played in years. She’d have been surprised if it could still make music at all.

“What is this?” Logan asked.

Ashley paced along the main room, running her fingertips along the walls. “I don’t really know. John found it when we were in eighth grade. It was on one of his dad’s maps. We started coming out here on weekends so our parents wouldn’t find us.”

Logan nodded. “Tristan came here, too?”

“Yeah.”

Logan turned to the window facing the lake. Fragments of broken glass littered the dirt outside, catching specks of white sunlight. Down the bank, Lake Owyhee ebbed at the shore. This place was beautiful once. Logan could almost picture it.

Behind her, Ashley gasped.

She faced the front of the room, staggered like she meant to run. Her eyes were fixed on the empty space in front of her.

“What’s—”

“Shhh,” Ashley hissed. “Do you not hear that?”

Logan listened, but aside from the standard sounds of the woods and the cabin, she heard nothing. Ashley’s eyes were wide with fear. She backed up slowly until her shoulders met the wall.

“They’re coming inside.”

“Who?” Logan whispered.

Ashley looked at Logan, blue eyes teary with panic. She turned back to face the door, and her expression changed from fear to confusion. “It’s … your dad?”

It was Logan’s turn to be confused. She watched the front door, following Ashley’s gaze, but there was nothing. Not even a shadow she could mistake for a person. She heard no voices. No footsteps. It was just the forest and the cabin and the nothing.

“I don’t see anything.”

Ashley kept staring, palms flat against the wall.

“Ashley,” Logan tried.

“He’s…” Ashley closed her eyes. “I’m trying to … he’s yelling at someone. He just keeps saying he doesn’t know.”

“Who?” Logan demanded.

“Your dad,” Ashley said again. “Oh … uh, Brandon.”

Another handful of silent moments passed, Ashley’s glassy eyes fixed on a point in the center of the cabin. Logan closed her eyes, tried to hear, but there was nothing. “What’s happening?”

“It sounds like someone else is talking to him, but I can’t hear them. Brandon says he’s sorry. He says he doesn’t know what to do.”