Page 42 of Mazywood

Johnny stopped mid-sentence, his head whipping right. Toward the house. When Tasha started to ask what he was looking for, he held up his hand to silence her in a way that grated on her nerves like little else. But instinct made her draw closer. She followed his stare and saw only thick tree trunks buried in snowdrifts climbing up the bark. Much more snow had collected behind the house than in the front yard, perhaps shoveled there by the caretaker.

Johnny relaxed after a few breaths, slipping his arm around her waist. “Thought I heard something. Sorry.” He might have been apologizing for the hushing gesture, or for being skittish. Or for the secrets he had not yet revealed. Johnny’s breath leaked from his lips in quick vapor clouds now. His breathing was elevated.

Johnny had been shaky since the road, but now his face was carved with the same trapped expression he’d worn the night she told him she was pregnant, the instant before he remembered to smile. Was he dreading revealing her pregnancy to Sharise and Imani this much? Pain cinched Tasha’s chest. She needed Johnny’s joy to help fuel hers. Their baby deserved joy.

Later, Tasha Washington would wonder why she hadn’t pressed Johnny about what sound he thought he’d heard behind his grandmother’s lodge. Or why she never seized that moment to volunteer that she’d heard a strange noise inside too, and then under the porch steps. Why hadn’t she told him how the wall trembled ever so slightly beneath her touch? Her future self would cut off an arm to tell him, if she could have a second chance.

Her future self would never forgive her. Or Johnny.

Maybe she could blame her silence on Johnny’s uneasiness about the abandoned Jeep outside the fence, and her worry that Imani and Sharise were right: Johnny was ready to leave Bear Creek Lodge at the first excuse.

Like Johnny, Tasha only stared at their daughters playing in the stunning wintry tableau.

Their private fears stole their words.

Fourteen

IMANI WAS PANTING. SHE WALKED her snowboard toward the boulder at the foot of the steps, fighting against the incline. Her freed right foot marched. With her left foot still strapped in the binder, she dug the edge of her snowboard into the snow crossways to keep the board from slipping. One step. Chop. Another step. Chop. Her snowboard sounded like a hatchet each time she dug into the snow after dragging it forward. Her legs burned.

The ride down went so fast, and the walk back up took forever. She’d been so excited at first that she hadn’t thought about how hard it would be to climb up without a ski lift. She and Sharise had only gone down three times on their boards. They had spent most of their time climbing.

“Wait for me…” Sharise wheezed from below her.

“Why?” Imani said. “You know I’m going to the stairs.” Chop. Another step.

Imani felt like if she stopped, her weariness would catch up and she would want to go inside early. The sun was dipping, but they probably had at least twenty minutes left. Sharise’s slower pace was agony. And a million steps were waiting ahead. Imani unzipped her jacket because she was drenched with sweat, and the cool air energized her. She sped up.

“Fine—if you don’t wait, I’ll just go in,” Sharise said. “Then you’ll have to go in too.”

Sharise had a hundred and one forms of blackmail. With a cry of frustration, Imani took her last step up the hill, stopping in front of the giant boulder, which was taller than she was. She leaned against it, catching her breath. Sure enough, as soon as she stopped moving, her limbs felt like they were turning to stone.

So many steps! She and Sharise had started calling them the “Steps of Death.” She’d stopped counting at fifty last time. The steps were sturdy, made of wood-lined stone, but they were steep and a major pain in the ass, especially with a snowboard. She and Sharise had seen a couple of abandoned snow tubes left among the trees below, and she didn’t blame people for leaving them behind. They would be harder to carry than boards or skis.

Imani glanced at the open gate at the top of the Steps of Death: No sign of Daddy. Mom had stopped watching after the first time they tried the slope, but Daddy was gone now too. Imani would miss showing off for him. Sharise mostly offered her advice and critiques—which was funny, considering that Sharise kept falling on her ass.

“How does this place not have a ski lift?” Sharise panted as she climbed closer.

“I think it used to.” Imani pointed toward the treetops bordering the steps. Some of the poles weren’t tree trunks, an ordered row in the midst of the trees. “A long time ago.”

“Dad needs to fix that,” Sharise said. “I wish he could fix it tomorrow.”

Sharise still had to climb ten yards to reach her, and Imani swayed in place to try to keep her muscles from feeling like hardening clay. The far side of the boulder was shaded, so she stepped over to take a peek at what else the property had to offer. She was looking forward to having a full day tomorrow to try her survival skills. She glanced at the underbrush from the trees near the boulder to try to see if any of the wood looked like usable kindling.

Instead, she saw a bright streak of blood painting the tree’s bark.

The blood streak was frozen, adorned with frost at the edges, but its crimson color was unmistakable against the red-brown trunk. Blood filled the ridges in the bark, as if someone had slapped a dripping paintbrush across the tree to mark their path. Imani had never seen blood except from small cuts, so she was surprised she recognized it on sight. The blood mesmerized her for so long that she forgot to wonder where it had come from.

“What are you looking at?” Sharise said. Chop. She was slowly climbing toward her.

Imani was about to lie and say Nothing, because the truth would freak Sharise out. But Imani was distracted when she spotted flat puddles of blood across the snow inches from the trunk, until her eyes rested on something black about the size of a half-dollar sticking out of a small snow mound. She took a step nearer, dragging her snowboard with her.

As she’d suspected, the black object, also speckled with frost, was on top of what seemed like a brown and white cone. Another step… and she saw a severed deer’s head, ragged at the neck. As she leaned over, a snow-filled eye socket came into view. A frozen nightmare.

Imani gasped and stepped backward, tripping over her snowboard to fall only inches from banging her head against the craggy boulder.

“Hey!” Sharise said. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

Sharise unhooked her boot from her snowboard and dug her feet into the snow to walk to Imani faster. The snow was deep enough for snowshoes. Time slowed as Imani watched Sharise approaching her, her mind racing for the right words.