Beck moves to the checkout counter, dropping her yogurt so hard on the surface that it nearly bursts. The mother is still in view, telling the daughter to wait outside while she goes into the bathroom. The girl stares at Beck as Beck leans on the countertop.
“So, do you know about the town witch?” Beck asks the guy at the register.
The man looks up at us with dead eyes. “Those girls tell you about a witch?” He scans the yogurt. It’s dirt cheap, so much so that I almost wonder if the thing’s expired.
I shuffle my way closer to the counter. “No, we heard about it from a ranger. Why?”
He snorts. “It’s a bullshit ghost story kids tell each other. They say there’s a witch in the woods killing people. It’s supposedly been doing it forgenerations.”
I exchange a look with Beck. “But people have died here?”
He bags Beck’s yogurt and throws a plastic spoon inside. “People die everywhere.” He clears his throat. “But that’s what happens when white folks try to turn nature into a theme park. People get too cocky and die.”
My stomach drops. I eye the necklace bouncing against his white T-shirt; it’s a symbol I’ve seen on a few storefronts advertising Serrano art and weaving work. Without knowing anything, I know he’s right about Paisley, Harlow, and Opal. None of them except Opal has mentioned going camping before. I’m sure they had no idea what they were doing and messed up a ton. I wouldn’t be surprised if theyreallymessedsomething up.
And now they’re dead because of it.
I can’t believe it was them who died. I can’t believe they’re now the warning this man can point to.
“Three girls recently died here,” I say.
“Yep,” he says.
“Did you see them that night?” Beck asks. “Was anyone following them?”
“A witch didn’t kill them,” the man says, his voice suddenly harsh.
Beck and I jump, the store falling into stone silence.
“It could’ve been the witch,” the little girl whispers.
I hold a gasp in my throat as I wheel around to face the girl. She’s got an openness on her face, like she’s about to talk about unicorns and not something evil. Beck furrows her brow.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my own voice going higher in anticipation. I hold myself still, avoiding any instinct to move closer to the girl or shake her shoulders until she says everything she knows.
The cashier rolls his eyes. “Sooner believe it was Bigfoot than a witch, little lady.”
“She’s real,” the girl insists. She’s got a jacket wrapped around her waist, herFortniteshirt wrinkled at the collar from too much wear, her adult teeth dwarfing her face as she speaks. This is a real kid who lives here. Somehow, she feels more local than her mother. “I’ve seen her running through the woods by my backyard. Right outside the park, by the motel.” Her lips twitch. “I know she’s real. And she was covered in blood the night those girls disappeared!”
A woman in the parking lot, a woman out by the welcome center, a woman on the road…
Was it too dark for me to see the blood on her? Did we see the samewoman that night?
My ears ring. The world feels weightless.
“Emma?”
My own name echoes in the chambers of my head.
“Emma!”
Beck grabs my shoulder, knocking me out of my trance. The mom emerges from the bathroom and takes her kid out without saying a word to us. Once Beck releases me, I steady myself on the counter. Beck slides a candy bar across.
“I think she needs a blood sugar boost,” Beck tells the cashier.
Hehumphs. “Don’t listen to that kid. That mom’s bought cameras from me before. If someone had been running bloody through her backyard, she would’ve known.”
Beck and I start our walk back to the campsite.
