Page 63 of Buried in the Woods Below

I rub my eyes, wondering if I’m hallucinating. But I know what I saw. It was a little girl, hair flowing in the wind. Could it be? The ghost of Big Island. The girl who fell off the Ferris wheel all those years ago.

I slap my cheeks. What am I thinking about? There’s no such thing as ghosts. It’s probably the mist, a trick of the starlight. And what am I doing hiding under my comforter like a scared little girl? I handled Vivek this afternoon. I can handle whatever this is.

And I did see something. Someone.

I creep out of bed and crawl toward the window, keeping my head low so as not to be seen. I peer through the screen, searching the yard, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. But the phantom is gone, whisked into the air like smoke.

I hear a giggle.

Soft. Lingering. Carried by the fog, a whisper from the past.

I rise from my crouch and search my room for a weapon. An umbrella sits in a can next to the dressing table. I open my door and follow the sound, fingers strangling the curved handle. The last giggle originated outside of Eric’s office. I tiptoe down the dark hallway, bare feet sliding along the warped wood, listening for another voice, another footstep. But there’s nothing. Just the wind and trees and the lonely frog.

I reach the office door and push it open.

Dozens of glass eyes stare back at me.

My breath hitches.

The dolls.

Lined up along the shelves, watching me, their faces frozen in eerie painted smiles, like they know something I don’t. I raise my hand to my chest to still my heart.

Focus, I tell myself. I look out Eric’s window, hoping to catch the girl. But again, there’s nothing. I tiptoe over to his desk and ease into the desk chair, peering out the window and listening. I sit in silence for minutes, ears pricked, watching. But it’s just me and the chrysanthemums and the forest. The phantom has vanished.

Then I see it. But it’s not a girl. It’s something different from before.

It’s a man.

Dressed in black, his steps heavy on the gravel. He’s carrying something in his hand. Something heavy.

I freeze.

But then I notice. His gait looks familiar.

It’s Carlos.

What the eff is he doing here?

He scampers toward the front of the house, a bottle of liquor in his hands. I see him approach the door and raise his fist like he’s going to knock. Is he crazy?

I fly down the hallway and open the front door before he wakes the entire house.

He flinches.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he says, hand to his chest.

“I scared you? What are you doing here?” I ask in a whisper that somehow rivals a yell. I shove him outside and close the door behind me, pushing him down the path away from the house.

A sheepish grin crawls up his face. He raises a bottle of tequila. “I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”

I release a breath and run my hand across my forehead. “It’s nearly one in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I had to cover a day shift and got lost en route. It’s so dark around here.”

“Yeah. Because it’s nearly one in the morning. How did you even get here?”

“I borrowed a friend’s pontoon boat. Want to see it?” He throws me a wink as though he expects a starlight rendezvous.