Page 26 of Wildwood

“The one in the woods?”

“Yes. The dreams aren’t all the same. Two were me running through the woods. In the other, I was in the woods, and everything was blurry. In both, I could feel this evil all around me. And there was this woman. She was terrifying . . .” I trail off, unable to finish.

“Oh.” He looks taken aback for a moment. “They are just dreams, El.” Topher takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.

“Yeah.”

“What?” He knows my tone too well, knows something else is coming.

I hesitate, knowing how it will sound. “I know this sounds crazy, but these dreams, they feel different. They feel like something I’ve lived through. Which is absurd, I know. In the dream I had last night, I was running through the woods, trying to escape something, or someone.”

“Dreams can be incredibly realistic and vivid.” He shakes his head. “Especially if you have pregnancy hormones in the mix.”

“No, this was different, I mean, I wasn’t even slee—” I stop myself short. I can’t tell him that I fell asleep standing up. That will sound crazier somehow. He’d probably assume I just need to see a doctor.

“Weren’t even what?” His eyebrows are raised.

I sigh helplessly into my hands. “Sleeping that deeply. It just didn’t feel like a typical dream.”

“Do you think it’s something from your past that is resurfacing?”

“No.” I don’t think.

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m scared.” It comes out sharper than I intended.

“Of what?” Topher asks so softly, I feel my heart break a little.

“Of this house.”

“But why?” There’s an edge of frustration to his voice, but I can tell he’s trying to hear me. I take his hands in mine.

“I think it’s haunted.” I let out a short, hysterical laugh.

“Haunted.” He blinks. Once. Twice. He’s probably wondering if this is a dream. He’s been up all night after all. “But . . . but . . . what do you think happened here? What’s haunting it?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “A witch?”

“A witch?” he repeats. “As in, pointy hat and a magic cauldron?”

He doesn’t mean it to be funny—he looks too dazed and confused to be sarcastic—but the words nonetheless make me laugh in a maniacal sort of way. And I sit for a moment, shoulders shaking, silent tears running down my cheeks.

Topher is quiet and looking at me with wild eyes, wondering, I think, what to make of the hysterical mess in front of him.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and sniff audibly. Oh my god, I’m losing it. “Okay, maybe it’s not a witch.” I can’t believe I’m uttering that statement. “But I think something fucked-up happened here.” I look him in the eye, willing him to believe me.

“But don’t you think people would know about it? I mean, you read about the place, didn’t you? Wouldn’t there be some Amityville-type blogs written about it?”

“Yes, but maybe it happened a long, long time ago.” It’s hard to put this into words. But the visions I’m seeing feel old. Whatever fearsome strength has been growing feels like it has been building for an eternity, and not in a spiraling, chaotic sort of way, but in a controlled, relentless way that feels even more frightening somehow.

I shiver, involuntarily, at the thought. Where have I brought us?

“Maybe we should go back to Cambridge.” The words tumble out before I’ve even processed them.

Topher stares at me a moment before speaking. “You are joking, right?”

I don’t say anything, unsure of what I even think, and just blink uselessly.