Nate smiled, leaned in and kissed her forehead, dripping on her books. “Isn’t that kind of what we are? The eccentric outsiders building a house by the bog? What will the people in town call us?”

Helen laughed, but it was an uneasy laugh. She remembered the way the kid at the store had looked at her, with suspicion, then outright loathing. I know who you are.

“There’s something else I learned,” she said, hesitating, unsure how much she should share with him.

“Oh?”

She told him about Edie Decrow.

“My god, that’s awful! No wonder he let the place go for so cheap. Remember what I told you about the spring—who knows how deep it is out there in the middle of the bog. Don’t go too close, okay? If you’re down there on your own, stay by the edge.”

She thought of telling him the rest, that the librarian said Mr. Decrow was convinced it wasn’t the bog that had nearly drowned his wife, it was Hattie. But that would only annoy him, possibly lead to a lecture about how the human mind looks for explanations and patterns when terrible things happen, how it makes us prey to fairy tales and nonsense…

She only nodded. “I’ll be careful,” she said.

“I’m going to go take a nice lukewarm spit shower and put on some dry clothes,” he said, giving her another quick kiss.

“Sounds good.” She went back to the book she was reading, to a chapter on hexes and curses. She skimmed the pages, reading about knot magic, candle burning, anointing your enemy’s door with a special oil. She found a reference to a spell that used a donkey’s tooth to banish an enemy. If a donkey’s tooth would work, couldn’t you use a deer’s or sheep’s tooth?

    She closed the book. A witch ghost putting curses on them from the Great Beyond? This was silly. Ridiculous even.

Helen had tucked the historical society woman’s phone number into one of the books: Spirits and Hauntings. Now, at the kitchen table, she opened up the book and pulled out the slip of paper. She grabbed her cell phone and punched in the number.

“You’ve reached the home of Marvin and Mary Ann Marsden. We’re not in right now, but leave us a message and we’ll call you when we get back.”

Helen left a short message along with her cell number.

She drummed her fingers, thought of George Decrow pulling his wife out of the bog. She dug around in her purse until she found the card of their real estate agent. She dialed and he answered on the second ring.

“Hi. This is Helen Wetherell. My husband, Nate, and I bought the land by the bog?”

“Yes, of course. How’s the building going?”

“It’s going well, thanks. Listen, the reason I’m calling is that we found something belonging to the previous owner in the trailer and I’d love to be able to mail it to him down in Florida. I was hoping you could give me his number?”

“I’m sure he really didn’t want anything from in there,” he said.

“But this looks important. It’s a bunch of personal papers, letters. I’d love to call him just to ask if he’d like them. I can’t bring myself to throw them away.”

“Well, I’m not technically supposed to share information like that, but…” She heard papers rustling. He sounded distracted. “Okay, I’m willing to make an exception in this case. I’m sure I’ve got the number here somewhere. Hold on a sec.”

He came back on the line and gave her the number, promised to stop by and see how the house was coming along the next time he was in the area.

The shower turned off and she heard Nate’s footsteps thumping down the hall to their tiny shoebox of a bedroom. She tucked the little notebook she’d written George Decrow’s number in into her purse.

“Babe?” Nate called half a minute later.

    “Yeah?”

“Have you seen my phone?”

“No.” She looked around, scanning the table and kitchen counters. “I don’t see it out here.”

There was the sound of rummaging, of Nate muttering something under his breath.

“Find it?” Helen called.

Nate came out into the kitchen in his boxers and a T-shirt. “No. It’s crazy. I’m sure I left it on the shelf in the bedroom—the one I always put my wallet and phone on. I left it there when I went out bird-watching because the battery was nearly dead and I didn’t want it to get wet in the rain.”

“Maybe it’s in a jacket pocket or something?” Helen suggested. “Or out in the truck?”

“It couldn’t be in the truck because you had it in town all afternoon. No, I’m sure I left it in the bedroom.”

“Maybe it’s up at the site,” Helen suggested. “You had it this morning. We used the calculator, remember?”

“Yeah, but I brought it back down, I’m sure.”

“You should go check. I bet it’s up there, under the first pop-up, on the table next to the saw.”

Nate went and checked. He came back empty-handed and irritated.

“Where does shit go around here?” he asked. “Yesterday, the level; today, my phone.”

Helen thought. It wasn’t just those things that had gone missing. They’d lost the broom. Helen’s favorite coffee mug. Other things had disappeared, too. Money from their wallets seemed to go missing—never all of it—just a ten here, a five there. Two days ago, Helen had splurged and bought a bumbleberry pie at the general store. When she went to get it from the fridge after dinner, it was gone.