The Hollows(19)

She checked her phone. There was a Wi-Fi network here! But it was password-protected.

Greg came back in, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘Sorry, there’s no . . .’ He saw the phone in her hand. ‘Trying to connect to the broadband, are you?’

She scrambled to make an excuse but he smiled, showing a set of dimples. ‘Getting internet withdrawal, are you? Want a quick hit?’

He picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and handed it to her. There, in black and white, was the password. Hollow321. It could hardly have been easier to guess.

‘I don’t mind if you want to hang out here and check your emails, or look on TikTok or whatever. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s our little secret.’ He winked.

Okay, that was creepy.

The Wi-Fi symbol appeared on her phone, telling her she had a connection.

He went on. ‘I bet your dad doesn’t realise how lucky he is, does he? I bet you get good grades, don’t cause any trouble for your folks. If your dad gives you any grief over losing your water bottle, send him to me and I’ll tell him he should be grateful to have a kid like you.’

Greg, Frankie had decided, was super weird. She stood up. But as she did, her phone let out a series of pinging noises, just as it had when she’d connected in Penance. WhatsApp messages appeared from her friends. Then a flurry of notifications from Instagram. That was unusual. She didn’t usually get that many likes or messages on there, unless she posted a photo of Swifty looking extra cute.

‘If you ever want to come here and check your messages or whatever, I’m totally cool with that. It would be nice to—’

She tuned him out. She was reading through her Instagram notifications, her Hydro Flask forgotten, the blood in her veins gone cold.

She hurried from the office, leaving Greg mid-sentence.

She needed to find Ryan. Like, right now.



Ryan’s mum was seated out front of their cabin, reading a book called I’ll Be Gone in the Dark.

‘Hey, Frankie. Ryan and David are playing tennis,’ she said.

The tennis courts were on the other side of the resort, down a path behind the reception building she’d just left, in a large clearing that also contained a children’s playground. As she passed the playground, which was quiet – there weren’t many little kids at the resort, which was odd – she stopped. Ryan was sitting on one of the swings. A tennis racket lay on the ground at his feet.

She went over.

‘Have you finished your tennis game?’

‘Huh.’ He scowled. ‘I was supposed to meet my dad here, like, twenty minutes ago.’

‘And he didn’t show up?’

‘No. Asshole.’

The venom in his voice was shocking.

‘He probably ran into some fans,’ he said.

‘Fans?’

‘Yeah. Turns out quite a lot of the losers staying here are fans of Mom’s podcast, and Dad’s been on it a few times.’ He frowned. ‘This was supposed to be a vacation . . .’

With a grunt, Ryan got off the swing, picked up his racket and strode away. Frankie followed.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I need to show you something.’

He kept walking and she had to hurry to keep up. Finally, she caught him by the elbow and yelled, ‘Look!’

He stopped, staring at her. She had her phone out, Instagram open. It was disconnected from the internet now, but the photos that had loaded in the office were still on the screen. Ryan started to ask how she’d managed to get online, but she shushed him. ‘Just read the comments.’

There was the photo he had posted when they’d been in Penance. She hadn’t noticed at the time but he’d tagged her in the post.

Come to the asshole of the world! Penance, ME. Where the dogs in the junkyard have higher IQs than the people. #Penance #shithole #vacationfromhell

Beneath were a couple of comments:

Fuck you, tourist.

My dog has a higher IQ than YOU!!

Ryan laughed. ‘Whoops. I’ve pissed off the locals.’

‘Those comments are nothing. Look.’

She had taken screenshots of her direct messages:

Watch yr back we’re coming for you.

Run rabbit run rabbit run run run . . .

First I’m gonna rape you and make your dumb bf watch and then I’m gonna murder you BOTH.

There were dozens. All the messages had been sent from different accounts with anonymous names and avatars. Frankie felt shaky and sick. Of course, she’d encountered trolls on social media before, but nothing like this.

‘Look at this one,’ she said. ‘We know where u r staying. And this one. Sleep tight. DON’T LET THE BED BUGS BITE!! What does that mean?’

She had expected Ryan to be as shocked as her. As frightened. But he laughed again. ‘Come on, this is typical troll behaviour, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything. It could be anyone.’ He stopped, finally noticing how upset she was. ‘It’s not a serious threat. Just ignore it.’

‘I think you should delete the post,’ she said. ‘Or apologise. Actually, you should do both.’

‘What? I’m not apologising. It’s probably some ten-year-old keyboard warrior anyway, with multiple accounts. Don’t worry about it.’

‘But—’