Hell's Hollow (6 page)

“But he died not long after Dad, didn’t he?” I asked.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true. You were about four or so.”

I jumped up and ran outside.
Four? There’s no way Zach’s been hiding at Myra’s for
twelve
years.
But I’d felt so sure that would explain it. I wandered down the road toward her house, thinking back on all the stories people had told over the years about the ghost, the moaning and crying neighbors heard in the early years, which Myra claimed as proof that Abe missed her, the thumps in broad daylight and the bumps in the night.

I stood in front of her big gray house. It seemed completely quiet. I went up and rang the bell, knocked on the door. Nothing. Heavy blinds blocked the windows. But even with my shield reinforced for town, I could sense Zach’s wounds close by, now that I knew what his felt like. The way my body hurt all over, the way it burned, felt exactly like it did when he was in The Hollow.

I wandered around to the back of the house, looking for anything that might belong to a boy — a bike, a baseball glove, a comic book. But her yard was immaculate, not a blade of grass out of place. I scanned the walls. Ivy grew thick on the trellis. But in one spot, it looked slightly smashed to the side. I stood at the base and considered climbing up. But that probably wasn’t exactly legal to do on someone else’s property. I put my hand on the vines and reached into the part that didn’t look quite right. There, tucked behind the greenery, rolled up in a tight ball, was a pair of dirty white socks.

Days passed before I felt his tug again. It was late, and Mom had turned out her light hours earlier. Still, I opened the front door as carefully as I could so she wouldn’t hear me leaving. The creaking of the hinges seemed as loud as a scream. But no sound came from her room.

Once I was safely on the path, I was so excited about finally seeing him again that I tripped over my own feet and slid halfway down the hillside.

As soon as I saw his silhouette, I called out to him, “Zach! I’m so glad you’re here! I was afraid you might not come back.”

“Shh!” he said, looking around as though he expected to get caught. “I thought I heard someone.”

I couldn’t help wishing he might be happy to see me. “It was probably me. I fell.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding concerned, which made me smile.

“Fine,” I said, coming closer to hand him a
Mars
bar. “Did you find the shoes?”

“What shoes?” he asked, taking the candy and a step away from me.

“Behind the tree,” I pointed to where I’d left them.

He went back to the tree where I’d placed the box and returned with the hiking boots on his feet. The awkward way he walked made me think they might be too big. “Thanks.”

“You should take some flip-flops, too, for hotter days.”

“That’s okay, these are fine,” he said, sitting back on The Hollow and finishing the
Mars
bar. “That chocolate was really good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen commercials for that one.”

“Do you watch a lot of TV?” I asked, prying for information wherever I could.

He shrugged. “I guess.”

I sat on the bank across from him. “There’s so much I want to talk to you about.”

“Like what?” he asked, looking like he feared I might ask him something he couldn’t or maybe
shouldn’t
answer.

“Like, why did you say you were afraid for me? And have you been hiding at Myra Clay’s, and are you her so-called ghost? But how could you be
because it’s been there forever? And how come you don’t have any shoes and you always wear the same long clothes even on hot nights?”

He started to get up, his face drawn tight.

“Don’t go. Please,” I said, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut and wondering why I couldn’t. “You don’t have to explain. Just… sit with me.”

“I really shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

“I won’t ask anything,” I promised. I moved a little farther from him to sit by the sequoia, needing distance from his pull. Why did I get so rambly around him? It was as if all the words I didn’t say in town got stored up and overflowed. “I don’t know why I can’t shut up around you. I don’t really talk … to people… that much.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“It’s hard to explain,” I replied. “It’s different with you, though.”

His face changed in the moonlight then, as though I’d said something hurtful, and he started backing up.

“Zach,” I said, “please don’t go.”

“You
don’t
understand,” he said.

“
What
don’t I understand?” I asked. “Explain it to me.”

He shook his head,
then spoke softly. “You’re sweet and kind, and… all I can bring you is darkness.”

And then, as if this was some Hollywood movie, a cloud slipped over the moon, shutting out the light.

“I’m not afraid of the dark!” I called. When the cloud passed, Zach was still sitting in The Hollow. “You didn’t run,” I said, surprised.

“I probably should’ve,” he replied.

I shook my head. “Why doesn’t The Hollow affect you? I’m sorry, I promised to quit asking questions.” What was
wrong
with me?

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Guys usually can’t get close to The Hollow. The energy vortex … it’s uncomfortable for them. My brothers used to dare each other to go near it. It was different for them because they have some of my mom’s blood, so it wasn’t as bad as it is for other guys, who can get knocked down by it. But you sit on top of it like it’s nothing.”

“I’m not normal,” was his reply, looking like he was still considering bolting.

“You mean your scars?” I asked just to keep him there.

“That’s only part of it,” he said. “Why doesn’t this energy thing affect
you
? Is it because you’re female?”

“That’s only part of it,” I echoed.

“What’s the rest?” he asked.

“I’m not normal either,” I said, my heart pounding. I’d never admitted this before, not even to my once best friend, Sierra. Well, there was the time I’d healed her finger in kindergarten after she accidentally sliced it in the paper cutter. But I’d never explained how I’d done it. And neither Mom nor Sierra had ever let me forget what a dangerous mistake it had been.

“How are
you
not normal?” he asked.

My body trembled. He didn’t know me as the freak. “I’m not allowed to talk about it.” The rule was too deeply ingrained. I couldn’t just brush it off.

“Me neither,” he said. And then he crept to my side of the bank and sat closer to me than he ever had before.

The proximity of his need was like a crashing ocean wave against me. I didn’t want to offend him by backing away. Between The Hollow coursing through me and his need smashing up against me, I almost couldn’t bear to be in my own skin. If I could feel him so intensely that had to mean he was real, didn’t it?

“Tell me,” he whispered, his dark eyes pulling on mine, filled with a different desperation. In the moonlight, I could see the scars on the right side of his face more clearly. They stopped just below his eye. I hadn’t noticed how long his dark lashes were before.

His need mixed together with some strange new feeling of my own, a reckless desire. The words slipped out without my permission. “The women in my family have lived here beside The Hollow for centuries. Its power works through us.” My face got hot and I felt this crazy flip inside my chest.
What
was I
doing
? “Most of them go crazy from it.”

“You’re not crazy,” he whispered.

“Yet,” I replied. The moment passed. I could say no more. “Your turn. I’ve asked a million questions. Pick one to answer.” My heart beat against my chest like a berry-drunk bird crashing against the windowpane.

He looked up to the sky as though the answers were there. “I don’t have shoes because I’m not supposed to leave the house.”

“So you
are
Myra Clay’s ghost!” I gasped.

“You
can’t
tell anyone,” he said.

“Of course,” I promised. “I would never. Besides, I told you, I don’t talk to them much.”

“Why not?” he asked. And the way his eyes held me was like nothing I had ever known, something I’d craved all my life without realizing it.

“No one can know about us, my family I mean, about how we use The Hollow
— or how it uses us. They’d be afraid again, like they were in the old days. I’d end up at Meadowland with the crazies. If I talked, I might accidentally spill. Why are you supposed to stay in the house?” I asked, horrified by the idea that he’d been stuck inside all these years.

He shook his head, looked away from me.

“Is that why you hide your socks behind the ivy?” I said softly, not wanting to upset him, but too curious to let it go.

“How do you know about that?” he asked.

“I came looking for you. The ivy seemed out of place, smashed to the side.”

“I should be more careful,” he said. “It’s hard to get the dirt off them. I can rub it off my jeans so she won’t notice. But the socks… there’s no way to hide it. So I leave them in the ivy where she won’t find them.”

“This is so messed up,” I said.

He shrugged.

“Do you need anything? Can I bring you something else?”

He looked at me with this weird expression, like he wanted to move closer, but instead he scooted farther away. “Maybe a book?” he asked. “She used to bring me a different one every week. I still get the workbooks, and TV is cool and all, but predictable. I miss reading new books
— not knowing what’s going to happen.”

I nearly cried. “Sure, I can bring you lots of books. That’s easy.”

“Only one… at a time,” he said. “I’ll have to hide it.”

“She shouldn’t be imprisoning you like this. It’s got to be illegal. I could get you help.”

“No!” he shouted, then quieted. “You have to promise. She has her reasons. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll bring you a book. Is there any certain kind you like?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The ones I’ve read, they’re mysteries mostly, adventures, sometimes fantasies. I like them all.”

An overwhelming desire to reach out and touch his hand swept over me. But I knew it was risky. I was too open. But if I touched him and I could feel his skin against mine, I could be sure. Still, I didn’t do it.

“I wish I could bring
you
something,” he whispered.

“You do. Every time you come,” I replied.

“What is it?” he asked.

My face burned. I was almost afraid to say the word out loud, afraid to spoil it. “A friend?” I knew it sounded hokey, but it was true, at least from my perspective. I hoped maybe it was true for him, too. It had been a really long time since I’d had someone my own age to talk to.

“A friend,” he said, and his cheeks changed in the subtlest of ways. Suddenly he seemed sad and serious. I worried that it meant he wasn’t interested in being friends with a freak like me — that he was struggling to find some polite way of blowing me off.

“Please don’t run away,” I said. “I won’t bother you.”

“You don’t bother me,” he whispered, avoiding my eyes.

“If I ask something you don’t want to answer, just say so. It kills me to have to wait days to find you again.”

“How
do
you… know when I’ll be here?” he asked.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to freak him out, make him feel vulnerable. And I still felt scared about revealing my own secret. “It’s part of the connection to The Hollow,” I said.

“Do you know when
anyone
is here?”

I shook my head. “Only some.”

“Why me?” he asked.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Because I’m … different,” he said.

“Sort of,” I replied.

He scooted away from me a little more. “Sorry.”

“For what?” I asked.

“I should go,” he said.

“What are you sorry for? Zach, you promised.”

“Don’t you get it? I’m dangerous.” His body seemed to tremble.

I wondered if it was that he understood about my sensitivity, how much his pain could take from me. But that wouldn’t explain why he’d be shook up about it. “To me?” I asked.

“To everyone,” he whispered. And in the moonlight his eyes lit up with a scary sort of anger.

“To everyone?” That didn’t make sense at all. “How could you be dangerous?” He didn’t respond. “Is that why she keeps you locked up?” My mind raced trying to imagine how he might be a danger to anyone.

“You won’t want to know me anymore if I tell you,” he said.

“I’ll always want to know you,” I promised.

And then, as if the pressure to hold in his secrets had finally become too much, he spilled. “I’m a murderer,” he whispered, “and the son of the devil.” His eyes bulged like he couldn’t believe what he’d admitted. And then, promise or no promise, he was running.