“What’re you doing?” Beck asks as she joins me.
“Trying to see why this thing collapsed.”
“It’s burnt, isn’t it?”
I look Beck in the eyes. “Yeah, it’s burnt.” I pause. “But I think something else happened. It feels too coincidental that this thing collapsed when there may be something to hide.”
The explanation could still be innocent. Idiot campers who tried to smoke or light off fireworks in here and caused its demise.
But that’s not what we find underneath it all. One look down and I suddenly wish time would speed up, fast enough that I could wake up so far away this would all feel like a distant nightmare.
We find a circle of rocks, more scorch marks populating the middle of the formation. An illegal firepit.
Nothing good could ever come from making something like this.
Especially not when everyone says there’s a witch who needs sacrifices to protect the town.
I hold my eyes shut a moment, fists clenched tightly at my sides. The witch isn’t real. Despite every instinct from childhood screamingshe’s here, I know she’s not. What is real are people who believe in her. Those people were at this spot at some point and burned down a historic structure to hide it.
“Beck,” I say, breathless. “Are you ready to see whatever we’re gonna see?”
“I’m ready for answers, at least,” Beck mutters.
We push aside as much dirt and natural debris as we can. I taste bitterness at the back of my throat.
A speckle of orange pokes through the browns. I bend down, my skin crawling out of sheer instinct. Even though I’ve seen the other four nails, god, these are still so foul.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
God.
The blackened orange rectangles shine through the ashes. I pick up a twig and turn one over, revealing the blood stained on the bottom. I swear I can smell the rusty scent of it.
I pull back to my full height, nausea blooming.
Beck snaps some pictures. “It’s okay. This is disgusting.” She swallows hard.
But it’s your sister.
I take a deep breath with her, brushing away a bit more dead plants and a nail off to the side.
Something else contrasts with the earth tones.
A tip of something blackened, almost shiny.
No, itisshiny. Like a gem.
I don’t want to know. My animal instincts freeze me in this spot.
But we have to know. I have to know.
I get onto my hands and knees, the old plants and rocks digging into my skin. I focus on the pain as I get a clear look at what’s glinting in the sun. I brush more debris aside.
My stomach goes cold as I realize what I’m touching.
I’m touching blackened incisors and half-burnt clumps of various colors of hair.
And the thing I find when I yank my hand away from that?
