The Hollows(16)

He went back into his cabin and came out with a black rubbish sack and a pair of gloves, which he slipped on. He picked the rabbit up by its hind legs – ‘Jeez, he’s a heavy bastard’ – and dropped it into the bag. Then he put it in the trash can.

‘There. Done.’

‘Listen,’ I said, addressing Ryan as much as his parents. ‘It’s important not to say anything to Frankie about this. She has a pet rabbit and she’ll be upset.’

‘Of course,’ said Connie.

‘Swifty,’ said Ryan. ‘She told me about him.’

Connie sat down at the table on their deck. ‘You know, I think I heard it happen. I woke up around three, needing the bathroom, and when I got back into bed I heard something out here. I figured it was raccoons or something and went straight back to sleep.’

‘I bet it was a fox,’ David said. ‘I can’t freaking stand foxes. We had chickens when I was growing up. Hey, Tom, do you want a refill?’ He nodded at my coffee cup.

‘I’m good. Thanks.’

As I walked away I clocked the expression on Ryan’s face. He was staring at the place where the rabbit had been, deep in thought. Perhaps thinking about what his dad had said about a clean cut. Then he noticed me looking, shrugged and turned away.

Heading back, I spotted Tamara on the deck of the cabin on the opposite side of ours, straining to see what was going on.

I went over.

‘What’s happening?’ she asked.

I explained about the rabbit.

‘Nature, red in tooth and claw,’ she said. ‘Though it’s kinda weird.’

‘What is?’

‘Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just I’m a pretty light sleeper, especially since . . .’ She left the sentence dangling tantalisingly. ‘I thought I heard someone out here in the middle of the night. Two people, maybe. Whispering.’

I must have looked alarmed because she said, ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably my imagination. In fact, I bet I know what sparked it. Yesterday I got chatting to this elderly couple down by the front desk. They were planning to ask if they could change their cabin. Want to guess why?’

I waited.

‘It’s because they think their cabin is haunted.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘Nope. They swear they heard voices in the night. They said they felt a presence too. Like, a feeling there was someone outside their cabin. They’re convinced it’s those teachers you were telling us about, haunting this place.’

‘Eric and Sally.’

‘Yeah, if that’s their names. A load of hokum. But I guess that’s what triggered my imagination.’

‘Or it could just be other vacationers going for a wander in the moonlight.’

‘Could be.’ She looked over to the spot where I’d indicated the rabbit was found. ‘Nothing to worry about. Unless you’re a rabbit. But listen. Please don’t mention this to Donna if you see her. She can be . . . kinda superstitious.’

Again, I got the impression she wasn’t telling me everything. That she was protecting Donna’s privacy. But I nodded and said, ‘Of course. My lips are sealed.’



Two hours later, Frankie and I stood in a field on the edge of the resort, being kitted out for our archery lesson. I had put our names down yesterday, and sprung it on her as a surprise over breakfast. She had moaned at first, but on the walk here her mood had lightened. I hadn’t said anything about the dead rabbit.

‘So, what do you think of the holiday so far?’ I asked. This was our first activity together, if you didn’t count eating dinner last night.

‘It’s pretty good.’ She smiled, knowing I would be disappointed by this faint praise. ‘No, it’s okay here. I’m not even that bothered about not being able to go online.’

‘Really? Because I am.’

‘Missing Netflix, are you? Or Facebook?’

She said this in the same way I might have gently ribbed my gran about still having a black-and-white TV in the 1980s.

‘All right. Just because I don’t spend my days learning the latest TikTok dance moves.’

‘Okay, boomer.’

I laughed. ‘Hey, I’m Generation X, I’ll have you know. The best generation.’

‘You keep telling yourself that, Dad.’

This was more like it.

Our archery instructor was a thirty-something guy called Carl. He had a shaved head and a reddish beard and moustache. He reminded me a little of Walter White from Breaking Bad, but fifteen years younger. He asked us if we’d ever tried archery before.

‘Not since I was a little kid,’ I said, deciding not to tell Carl that my dad had been an amateur archery champion, in case it raised his expectations.

‘You guys are Brits? You should be good. Robin Hood and all.’

‘I think we might let our country down,’ I said.

Carl winked at Frankie. ‘I’ve got a feeling you’re going to be good, even if your dad isn’t.’

That made her smile.

He showed us the parts of the bow and measured our draw length to decide which size we needed.

‘Okay, who wants to go first?’ Carl asked. ‘You want to show your dad how it’s done?’