And Olive almost told her then. Almost confessed everything—how school really sucked, how she skipped more often than went these days, how her dad had started tearing her bedroom apart, how she really was looking for the treasure and hoped it would help bring Mama back.

But then Riley turned and smiled at her, and it was a genuine smile, radiating happiness and relief.

“I’m really so happy you’re doing well, Ollie. I think a computer’s a great idea! Let me know if you need any help picking one out or setting it up or anything. I’m not an expert, but I know enough to get by.”

Olive nodded.

“And you know,” Riley added, putting her hand on Olive’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “If things ever weren’t going well at home, you could always come talk to me. And my guest room is always open, you know that, right? You can stay with me anytime.”

“I know, thanks.” Olive loved the idea of staying with her quirky aunt, but she knew she couldn’t leave her dad for long. She was all he had left. “But things are fine at home now. Really.”

Riley gave her a smile. “Just keep it in mind, ’kay? My door’s always open. And we’re still on for this weekend, right? Bride of Frankenstein and a double pepperoni pizza?”

“Absolutely,” Olive said, giving her aunt the best happy, well-adjusted, I’m doing fine, really smile she could muster. “And don’t forget the Swedish Fish!”

CHAPTER 9

Helen

JUNE 9, 2015

Something was eating the trailer.

It was a little after two in the morning and Helen had just come to bed after sitting in the kitchen, doing research on the computer, reading her library books, and drinking two cups of herbal tea liberally laced with brandy to help her get to sleep. Country living was not doing wonders for her insomnia. Back in the condo, there had been hundreds of channels of cable TV and the constant noise of traffic from the highway to help lull Helen to sleep.

Of course her research hadn’t exactly helped. She’d done a search on Hattie Breckenridge and discovered a brief entry from a collection of Vermont ghost stories written in the 1980s:

    Hattie Breckenridge, legend had it, was the wife of the Devil himself, with a beauty no man could resist, even in death. To this day, residents of Hartsboro claim to see her in the woods and bog where she once lived, and some have been unlucky enough to follow her, to answer her siren’s call, and never find their way out of the woods again.

Helen had switched off the computer, thinking the story utter nonsense. Where were the facts? Where were the names of people who’d seen her, people who’d supposedly gone missing? She crept into the bedroom and lay down, closed her eyes, took a deep sighing breath, willing herself to fall asleep quickly—and then she heard something scratching and chewing. It seemed to come from directly beneath her pillow.

“Nate,” she said, shaking him. “Wake up.”

“What?”

“Do you hear that?”

“Mmm?”

    It was a scrabbling, gnawing sound coming from under the bed. Steady and grinding.

There was something down there. Something with sharp teeth. Something chewing its way up to them. It would eat through the wooden slats of the bed frame, then the soft organic cotton mattress, and then— She shook him harder, gave his shoulder a not-so-gentle punch. “Nate, there’s something here, in the trailer!”

“Ow! God! What? Where?” he asked, sitting up, listening as he rubbed his shoulder.

“Don’t you hear it?” she asked.

“Hear what?” He looked at her, puzzled. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just shut up and listen!” she hissed. This was not going to be like the scream their first night.

They sat together under the covers, listening.

Gnawing. Definite gnawing. Not the soft chewing of a mouse, but something much louder, much larger.

“You hear that, right?” Helen asked.

“Yeah, I hear it.” He sounded worried.

“Well, what the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know. Some kind of animal.”

Helen remembered the library woman’s words: “You stay out there long enough, and who knows, maybe you’ll see her, too. Go to the bog at sunset and wait. When the darkness is settling in, that’s when Hattie comes out.”

And Helen had thought of going last night after supper, of walking to the bog by herself, but she’d been too frightened.

The mad chewing got louder, more insistent.

My, what big teeth you have.

All the better to eat you up.

She hadn’t gone to Hattie. Perhaps Hattie had come to her.

“I think she’s under the bed,” Helen whispered.

“She?” Nate said, grabbing his glasses, flipping on the light.

“It. Whatever.”

She shouldn’t have been reading the ridiculous Hattie story online and the witchcraft books from the library before getting into bed. Next time she couldn’t sleep, she’d pick up one of Nate’s science tomes—study the anatomy of an earthworm or how evaporation and condensation cause rain.

    “Hand me the flashlight,” he said as he slid off the bed and dropped to his knees. She passed him the big yellow light and he flicked it on, shone the beam under the bed. Helen stayed on top of the covers, legs tucked under her, half expecting a gnarled hand to reach out and pull him under.