The Hollows(26)

Still, as more and more creepy stuff happened, the more the rumors of ghosts and curses spread. One night, we heard a scream coming from Stacey’s tent and Corey cracked a joke about how someone had peed in her sleeping bag again, but then Mary-Ellen screamed too and they both said they’d seen a figure standing in the woods, watching them.

“What were you doing out of your tent?” Mr. Daniels wanted to know, and everyone knew it was because they’d snuck out for a smoke. Mrs. Fredericks took a flashlight into the trees and came back reassuring everyone there was no one there and that we should calm down and go back to sleep. I thought they’d imagined it too, except Mary-Ellen—who wasn’t the kind of girl who gets spooked easily and who had described The Blair Witch Project, which a load of us had snuck into the theater to watch earlier that summer, as a dumb movie for scaredy-cat babies—had gone totally pale. When I asked her about it she said that they had definitely seen someone.

“Or something,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She shivered and hugged herself. “It wasn’t human,” she said.

But she wouldn’t say any more.

I stopped reading and glanced through the open door at my bedroom window. Not human. I forced a laugh and told myself not to be ridiculous. It was this place, that was all. The primal fear that dark woods bring out in all of us.

A long section was dedicated to the night Jake found the bodies. I read this with keen interest, trying to imagine what it must have felt like. How scary it must have been. The rest of the book was dedicated to Robineaux’s ‘philosophy of life’, a series of almost comically clichéd motivational statements – Live every day like it’s the most important of your life; You don’t need to chase a pot of gold—the rainbow is enough! – accompanied by his deep thoughts about the meaning of everything.

There were several quotes from Sally’s widowed, cuckolded husband too. Neal Fredericks. Robineaux had interviewed him for the book, and it seemed he’d been only too willing to talk, mostly about the inadequacies of the local police and their failure to find Everett Miller.

I was tempted to go searching those woods myself, with a shotgun, Neal Fredericks was quoted as saying. Mete out my own justice. It’s a disgrace that they let that kid get away. But I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t care if he’s a pagan or heathen or whatever the heck you call it, Everett Miller is going straight to Hell. And thanks to the Maine police, that’s the only time he’s going to face justice.

Neal Fredericks had been eager to speak to Jake. Maybe he’d be willing to talk to me too.

I put the book down with a heavy feeling in my gut. Jake Robineaux didn’t seem like he’d been suicidal when he wrote his book, but perhaps the inspirational slogans were his way of putting on a brave face – because according to what David and Connie had told me, Jake had killed himself a couple of years after the book’s publication. That was—

The front door of the cabin opened with a bang.

I almost jumped out of my chair. But it was just Frankie. She went straight into the kitchen and filled a glass of water, gulping it down.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, rising and approaching her.

‘Yes. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’

I put my hands up in surrender. ‘All right. Sorry. You seem tense, that’s all.’

‘I’m just hot. What are you doing? What’s that book?’ She went into the living area and picked up A Night in the Woods. She groaned. ‘Not you too. Ryan says his parents never stop banging on about this shit.’

‘Frankie!’

I very rarely heard her swear. But I decided to let it go. I was hardly a saint myself when it came to bad language, and yet again I had to remind myself she was almost grown-up now. There were far worse things than swear words. I’d just been reading about some of them.

She dropped the book and appeared to hesitate for a moment. Then, to my great surprise, she threw her arms around me and rested her face against my chest.

‘Love you, Dad,’ she said.

‘I love you too.’

As quickly as she’d hugged me, she pulled away. ‘Isn’t it time we got going?’ she said.

‘Huh?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be pony-trekking?’

Of course. I had completely forgotten.

I put the murders from my mind and headed out with my daughter.





Chapter 13


Before she’d moved to the States with her mum, I had taken Frankie for riding lessons every week, never missing them even when I was at my lowest ebb and my career and marriage were falling apart. It had been one of our things, a dad-and-daughter activity, although I hadn’t ridden myself. I drove her there, sat and waited in the car while she had fun, and then, on the way back, we would stop for milkshakes and cake at a local café. I found it hard to think back on those days without getting emotional. I’d had no idea back then that my time with my family was so limited.

I didn’t blame Sarah for leaving me. I knew I had become impossible to live with: grumpy and morose much of the time; filled with self-pity and hard to love. I was no longer the man she had married. I did blame her, however, for taking Frankie to America. I had never imagined she would do such a thing, and she claimed it wasn’t something she had planned either, until a job opportunity came up that was too good to miss. I could have fought for custody. I might have been able to get a court order to stop her taking Frankie, who didn’t want to go either. But I had no money to pay for lawyers and, well, I had no fight in me. That was part of the problem. And in the end I realised it would be better to go along with Sarah’s wishes. I needed her to give me access to my daughter.